Lost
by bnr848
Summary: Sometimes when you can't outrun betrayal, you find yourself running from yourself. Heartache leads to danger when Castle reverts to his careless ways. A story about how one event can change everyone's lives.


LOST

By: Dupin848

 **Disclaimer: The publicly recognized characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plots are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Summary:**

 _Sometimes when you can't outrun betrayal, you find yourself running from yourself. Heartache leads to danger when Castle reverts to his careless ways. A story about how one event can change everyone's lives._

 **Note:** I started this story two months ago, long before some of the topics became part of the nightly news. There is no agenda. It's not my usual style but tried a little heartache for a change. I know it long. As with most of my stories, I don't like to post until they are completed, so my apology to those that prefer short reads.

CHAPTER 1

 **It had been five years. Five years since he had professed his love for her, yet again. Unwilling to witness her self-destruction, he had begged her to walk away; but she couldn't. She'd almost been killed. Were it not for Ryan she would have died that day. Eventually the despair led her where she belong; into Richard Castle's arms. She begged him to forgive her, assured him only he mattered. She was finally home, in his arms and in his bed.**

They worked best together, and together they would end her nightmare. After all, was it not Castle who had reawaken that thirst for justice? In her younger years it had been about revenge, and it had almost destroyed her, but now it was about justice. With him she could conquer her demons, with him by her side she could take on the world.

After her suspension, she, Castle and Esposito continued to work her mother's case. Eventually Ryan was allowed back in the fold, but things between them were never the same.

It was a Tuesday, just after lunch, the call had been transferred from the Desk Sergeant. It had taken her by surprise, the muffled voice, disguised but still undeniably evil. "Drop it, let it go, or we promise, you will regret it. You can watch as we kill the writer and the pretty little redhead, and I'll take my time with her first." She would never forget the words, they echoed every waking hour and haunted every dreams. They had warned her, they were coming for her; but first they would take everything and everyone she loved.

Just like that, without much fanfare she ended it. Walked into the loft, gathered the few items she had stashed away in their months together and left. When he demanded an explanation she offered none. When he continued to call, she changed her number. Cold, calculated and without excuse. She had played her hand; had walked away. But he and Alexis were safe.

Banished by Gates, Castle was out of the precinct and out of the picture. They had determined Senator Bracken was behind the murders but could never prove it. She had spent every waking minute working every lead. The despair was haunting. In the end, someone else had gotten to Bracken. He had died of an apparent heart attack, but she knew better. Her work had suffered, her personal life was done, and she had started drinking. Lanie and Esposito had pulled her out of the abyss, and her mother's case had been closed, once and for all.

It was no surprise when the end of Nikki Heat was announced. Everyone at the Twelfth had been invited to the final Nikki Heat book party. From their squad, only Ryan and Jenny attended. The books' dedication had said it all, "Good-bye." Richard Castle had been offered a blank check to continue, but there was no persuading him. Gina and Paula had tried everything, but the answer was always a resounding, "No."

CHAPTER 2

Five years later, he was out with a new book. Things looked good for him. She had kept track of them; Rick, Martha and Alexis. Alexis had graduated a year earlier from Columbia and was now attending Oxford. Sentimentality had gotten the best of her and she had badged her way into the commencement ceremony to witness Alexis receive her degree. Recently she had seen Alexis' engagement announcement on Page Six. Her fiancée was a war correspondent stationed overseas; they had met at a U.N. Conference in London. Martha had remarried and was back on Broadway, enjoying a career revival. But Richard Castle had all but disappeared.

As for her, she'd resigned from the NYPD and accepted a job in D.C., with the Attorney General's Office. She did her job and went home. She no longer lived her cases. Life was a day-to-day mundane event; nothing more, nothing less. Lanie would occasionally visit, but she avoided New York. Her dad had retired and moved to Florida where he now fished all the time. They spoke often but rarely saw each other. Jim Beckett could not stand to see the sadness in his daughter's eyes.

The book was a surprise to everyone. Richard Castle had finally written a nonfiction novel. By all accounts it was bound to win a Pulitzer as well as every other literary accolade imaginable. She had read all the articles, but had not been brave enough to buy the book. He had once joked it was in his contract, that all his books display his "ruggedly, handsome face" on the back of the book jacket; Kate Beckett was a coward.

He'd gone to the Middle East, embedded with a renegade group of Syrians before all hell broke loose. Reports claimed he had barely managed to escape. He had surfaced in Lebanon a year later, quickly evacuated to a U.S. Military medical facility with undisclosed injuries. Rumors were he had been captured and tortured; his life ransomed to his publisher. However, he had managed to escape with the aid of two Syrian brothers and an unidentified woman. A year later, he had published their story.

He was in Washington. Every committee wanted to talk to him, every major news outlet wanted an interview. He was scheduled for a panel discussion and a book signing event at the Newseum on Wednesday. She needed to get out of town and she needed to leave now.

She called Lanie. "Hey, I was wondering if you'd like some company." She was nothing if not transparent. Calling on a Monday, practically begging to get together? Lanie was no fool. "Kate, we get the news too you know. I know Castle's there, so don't pretend this is anything but you running away." And running away she would continue to do. She had loved him the day she walked away and she loved him still. But love was something Katherine Beckett was never supposed to win at.

"Lanie, I just need you to be a friend. Please," added a tearful Beckett. "You know, Javi and I will always be here for you. If you want to come and stay a few days, you're always welcomed." Two years prior, Javier Esposito had finally gotten down on one knee and proposed. Kate had met them in Vegas, where they had exchanged, "I do's." The joke was, they now shared custody of Beckett. They were good friends and Kate knew they were truly her only family.

CHAPTER 3

Richard Castle was tired. He was still ruggedly handsome, but these days the emphasis was on the "ruggedly." At the height of his misadventure he had lost 80 pounds. Although he'd managed to gain most of it back, his large frame still looked gaunt and thin. His once dark brown hair was now peppered with gray, highlighted by slightly graying temples. Even the fine tailored suits could not mask the abuse his body had sustained; and the subtle limp was a reminder of the worst of those times.

He'd return just as broken as when he had gone. On one specific, terrifying night, when he thought all hope was lost, Amir had told him he survived because he had nothing to lose. Richard Castle knew it to be so. Alexis and his mother were well taken care of, he had seen to that. Life just had to play itself out.

Esposito had visited when he returned to New York. Ryan had called. Lanie had dropped by the loft, unannounced, and berated him, then hugged him within an inch of his life. She had threatened to steal his passport and not let him out of New York, ever again. They had talked about everything except Kate. They all knew better.

Paula was still taking care of Rick. She knew Beckett now lived in D.C. and was hesitant to accept the engagement. But Richard Castle had just written a nonfiction thriller that rivaled all others; Washington D.C. was a must. Paula knew Kate Beckett was Rick's kryptonite and she aimed to prevent any exposure.

Kate had just completed her leave papers when her partner waltzed in, "Hey Beckett, I have a surprise for you." Rachel McCord took one look at the papers in Kate's hands and said, "Might as well tear those up, we've been assigned a detail. All time off has been cancelled." Well, she thought to herself, at least she'd be busy. "We're on babysitting detail. An old friend of yours, Richard Castle. Apparently he's in town for some big book deal. There's been a threat against him and we're his detail." Kate could feel the blood drain from her body. She felt faint, and all of a sudden she'd forgotten how to breathe. As she hyperventilated, McCord rushed to her side. She slowed her breathing, put her arm out stopping Rachel dead in her tracks. "Listen, Beckett, I know you're a private person and I don't want to intrude but there is obviously a history. It's my detail so I'll see what I can do. Rogers owes me a favor, maybe we can work something out," a sympathetic McCord added. Kate nodded, unable to speak.

Tuesday it was evident she had not slept well. The bags under her eyes carried the weight of her anguish. Quite frankly she looked like shit. To Kate's relief, Rogers had agreed to swap duties. She would now be point on the outer perimeter. Rick would never know she was there. Two days, she only had to get through two days. Today he appeared before Congress, tomorrow he had the event at the Newseum. Then he'd be gone.

They drove across town to Castles hotel. His publicist was the contact person and she had assured them Mr. Castle would fully cooperate with any security plan. McCord had asked Beckett to share her personal knowledge and she had volunteered some information. She had described the Castle she knew as, smart, witty, infuriating, and reckless. In an unguarded moment, she'd added "he's like a nine year-old on a sugar rush." McCord had smiled, realizing this was not about avoiding an ex; Katherine Beckett loved with the man.

By ten thirty, Agents McCord and Rogers were knocking on Richard Castle's door. They were greeted by a young redhead, who she'd guess was his daughter. The picture in their file did not do her justice.

A few minutes later an apologetic Castle joined them. He had a beaming smile and eagerly shook their hands as he introduced himself. He apologized for all the commotion, adding his publisher had insisted on the extra protection. He assured them it was probably nothing and offered them coffee. McCord could see the smile was forced but the bravado true.

The drive from the Mandarin Oriental normally took ten minutes, it was a pretty straight shot down Independence Avenue to the Capitol Building. With Capitol Police escorting them, they would make it there in half the time. "Mr. Castle, myself and Agent Rogers will be, for lack of a better word, your bodyguards for the next two days. There is another team, but they will secure the outer perimeter. You won't even know they're there. We ask you don't wonder off into crowds. We will not interfere unless we perceive a threat. If we ask you to do something we ask you comply." Castle thanked them, agreed to comply and informed them Alexis would be escorting him today. McCord excused herself and made a phone call. "Beckett," came the automatic reply on the other end. "Kate, there's been a change in plans. The daughter is coming along. Because of the nature of the threat I don't want them traveling together. You and Dominquez will have to drive her." Kate closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "Copy," she managed to eke out. "She's a redhead wearing..." Kate interrupted, adding "I know what she looks like. I'll have Dominquez waiting in the lobby." She would drive; perhaps Alexis wouldn't notice her.

It felt like an eternity. Castle's detail had taken him out the service entrance. They were waiting for Alexis at the front lobby. Within a few minutes, Dominguez opened the SUV's back door, closing it tightly before joining Beckett in the front. She pulled out onto 12th Street SW, heading towards Independence Avenue. As she stole glances through the rear view mirror she could see Alexis preoccupied on her cell phone. With any luck, she would stay busy till they arrived.

Alexis had noticed Kate the minute she entered the car. What were the odds? She'd heard about the job in D.C., but had not expected this. Someone had to do it; she took a deep breath. "Haven't seen you since my graduation." The tone was snarky, but without doubt directed at her. Kate looked in the rear view mirror, acknowledging Alexis. "You look good. I didn't know you saw me that day," explained Kate. "I was looking for my dad; I was hoping he would make it, saw you in the tunnel," added Alexis in a mournful tone. "I must admit, I was surprised. Didn't know you cared." It was delivered for maximum effect, and one look at Kate's body language let Alexis know she'd hit the target. "I'll always care," Kate replied in a faintly audible voice. "Are you even going to ask about him?" a now angry Alexis inquired. "I can see he's doing well." "Don't let looks fool you, he's not doing as well as he lets on. You should know better than anyone else; he's a great actor. Then again, maybe you really don't know..." The last words were said as they pulled up to the Capitol. Kate turned to Alexis, only to catch a steely, resolute stare aimed at her. "Wish I could say it was nice seeing you again Detective. Good-bye." Kate stopped Alexis with a touch, adding, "Alexis..." Without hesitation Alexis said, "Don't worry, I won't tell him I saw you... I love him too much." With those words, Alexis had delivered the final blow.

CHAPTER 4

Kate took her place in the gallery standing towards the back, out of sight. Castle had walked in a few minutes before, taking her breath away. He was thin and despite a tan, looked gaunt and tired. His blue eyes lacked the luster of mischief they always had and his smile waned. She ached for him.

The committee entered and everyone rose. After a brief introduction, Castle was asked to stand and take an oath. Richard Castle, looking stately in a navy blue suit, white shirt and deep red tie exemplified decorum. But Richard Castle was there to slay dragons.

The chairman started, "Mr. Castle, good morning and thank you for accepting our invitation. Your resent experiences and your resilience through those harrowing events is a testament to your grit. You are an inspiration. Your heroism, in the face of dangerous odds, shows the resolve and bravery of all Americans who strive to bring forth the truth of what faces the people of that war torn region. We are honored to have you here today. We understand you have a statement you'd like to make." Castle cleared his throat and started. "Good morning, Mr. Chairman, honorable members of the Committee. Before I get started, I remind you, I was asked here. I have never involved myself in politics. By nature I have never been a very serious man. I've made my living through stories of murder, mayhem, spying and treason. Make-believe has made me a very wealthy man, and it never prepared me for the pains of reality."

"I ventured into Syria on a whim, a drunken escapade; a reckless act. Senator, I assure you it was no act of bravery or heroism. I was chasing an idea for a novel; an idea that would ultimately result in me fighting for my life."

"When I arrived in Damascus, things were chaotic, and dangerous. It was not long before my survival was in question. I was lucky. Between my connections, the brave individuals that helped me and my money, I was able to buy, bribe and lie my way back home. But few are as lucky as I. What happened to me was no one's fault but my own and I hold only myself responsible. But this is not about me, this is about our lack of resolve. Syria has become a quagmire where innocent men, women and children die seeking safety. Evil has taken over and it has become difficult to identify the players. We must act or suffer the consequences."

She watched as Richard Castle took them to task. He had always been eloquent. His ability to turn a phrase was legendary; Richard Castle could paint the Mona Lisa with words. Stunned the chairman called the witness to order. "Mr. Castle, I reminded you, you are a guest on this floor. This Committee has been generous in extending you tremendous courtesy. However, we will not tolerate your unwarranted accusations." Richard Castle stood, looked directly at the chairman and replied, "Unwarranted? Read my book Senator, it'll explain everything you and your committee have blinded yourselves to. I'll send you each a copy." With that, Richard Castle turned and walked out.

Castle's hasty departure put the agents in motion. McCord hustled behind Rogers, clearing the hall for their ward. Castle insisted Alexis join him for their trip back to the hotel. He needed his daughter close and McCord agreed.

As he was escorted back to the car he could've sworn he'd seen her. Katherine Beckett still occupied the recess of his mind. Not a day went by when he didn't think of her. She had been both, his death wish and his reason for living. He did not know which one he preferred. His love for her was a double edge sword. Right now, Richard Castle just needed to make it home.

She had barely made it behind the pillar. Having overestimated his haste she had almost beat him to the door.

Once back at the hotel, he advised McCord he'd be dining in, there would be no leaving the hotel tonight. He was exhausted and all he wanted was a hot shower, a stiff drink and his bed.

Beckett and McCord headed to the office, filed their report and went home. All she wanted was a hot shower, a stiff drink and her bed. She was exhausted; for the first time in a long time, she cried herself to sleep.

CHAPTER 5

She was up early, eager to shake off the events of the last few days. She tied her running shoes and took off. A run would do her good.

She lived in Georgetown, near the university. Today she would run down Reservoir Road, around the campus, down to Foggy Bottom and back; that should put her at around seven miles. But not even seventy miles could ease the ache in her soul.

Richard Castle was her weakness. He had hounded her, and pursued her until she could no longer deny him. She loved him then and loved him still. She knew what her leaving had done to him. But few knew what it had done to her.

The office was busy and humming with activity when she arrived. She saw McCord approaching and met her half way, "What's up?" They continued walking towards McCord's office when she spotted it, splattered across the front of a local newspaper a picture of Castle, with a bullseye across his face. The headline read, "NO ONE ESCAPES." Kate grabbed the paper demanding, "How did they get this?"

The hotel provided newspaper delivery to all guests and the picture had also been slipped inside the newspaper delivered to Castles room. Teams from the FBI and Homeland Security were currently waiting for surveillance videos from the hotel; the newspaper was less cooperative. The newspaper advised the photo had been left at their reception area in an unmarked envelope. An intern had opened it, seen the picture, and simply placed it among other items in an inbox. A reporter had spotted it while searching for an ad-copy. The envelope long gone, the picture handled and passed on to several people.

"I'm on my way to meet with Mr. Castle and his representatives. We have requested, out of an abundance of caution, he postpone or cancel his speaking engagement tonight." Kate looked at McCord and firmly stated, "He won't cancel. The Richard Castle I know will double down and place an ad opening the event to one and all. Trust me, he needs to be protected from himself." Kate was firm in her believe and Rachel McCord trusted her. "Kate, we don't know if this is some crockpot or actual terrorist, but we have to take it at face value. We believe he is in danger. If you've changed your mind and want to join me…" Rachel McCord could read the panic in Beckett's eyes. "I'll work the leads coming in. Just keep me posted on what he decides," added Kate. McCord nodded, looked at Kate and said, "You love him, don't you?" Kate, broke eye contact, cleared her throat and replied, "Just keep me posted," as she walked away.

Rachel McCord could hear the lively discussion coming from Richard Castle's hotel room. Obviously the topic of the cancellation was being debated in earnest. Her hard knock interrupted the yelling. "Will you talk to him?" Alexis exclaimed as she opened the door. "Obviously, Paula and I are incapable of talking sense into him!" The statement was rhetorical and McCord continued towards Richard Castle with steadfastness. "Mr. Castle, if I may have a moment of your time." Castle looked at McCord and added, "Anything you have to say, you can say in front of them." Alexis and Paula exasperatedly walked away. McCord took a deep breath, gave Castle a stern stare and said, "Mr. Castle, currently we have no way of knowing if this is a valid threat or just some crockpot hoping to make the six o'clock news, but either way we are taking it seriously. We hope you are not being cavalier about this. This threat does not only affect you, it is a threat to all those around you, my agents included. Someone warned me that at times you could behave like "a nine-year-old on a sugar rush," I just hope you are not being childishly stubborn about this." The minute the words left her mouth she regretted it. She could read the reaction on his face, it had been immediate. He had taken a step back, his face red with anger. "Who said that Agent McCord? Who described me like that?" The question went unanswered. There was only one person that describe him that way. He had found it cute and endearing at one point, but not today.

"Rick, I will cancel this thing in a heartbeat" Paula interrupted. The moment lost, McCord excused herself. Castle was speechless, it was her yesterday, his eyes had not deceived him. "Paula, I don't care who you have to call, but I want Beckett off this case. Do you understand? If not, you tell the feds to stay away, they can't force protection on me. I will get my own people." With that said Richard Castle stood, walked to his bedroom and slammed the door.

Alexis, looking defeated plopped on the couch and added, "I saw her yesterday, she drove me to the Capitol." Paula hurriedly sat next to Alexis and whispered, "Did you tell him?" "Are you insane? Absolutely not! He doesn't know," professed Alexis. "Then what the hell happened? Who told him?" Her New York ire and attitude on maximum, Paula marched towards McCord. "Listen, I don't know what happened but we know Katherine Beckett is involved in this detail. If she isn't immediately removed, Mr. Castle will no longer be accepting any protection." "Agent Beckett is not directly involved in Mr. Castle's protection team. She is part of the detail, but on the secondary team. She has been a great asset," added McCord. "I don't care if she's second, third or fourth team, she is to be nowhere near Mr. Castle or his detail. This is not up for debate, nor opened for discussion. Either Beckett leaves or we do." Paula had played her hand, and she was not taking no for an answer. If need be she would have Richard Castle on an airplane and back in New York before the end of the day. Kryptonite would not get to Superman, not on her watch.

McCord called Dominguez and arranged for Agent Thompson to join him. It would not be easy, but her priority was Richard Castle. McCord made the call. "Kate, he knows you're involved in the detail. I'm sorry, it was my fault. I let slip that _nine-year-old on a sugar rush_ thing, and he figured it out. I'm so sorry Kate, but he threatened to terminate the detail if you weren't removed." McCord was apologetic but firm, Kate had to stay in the office. Kate agreed with McCord, assuring her she would continue to work the evidence while they were in the field.

He had barely made it inside the room before his knee gave out. For a moment he had also forgotten how to breathe. Even at the worst of his beatings, his lungs had been capable of inhaling, right now, he couldn't remember how. How was it possible, after all he had gone through, the mention of her name or the mere thought of her could still cause so much pain? Would he ever be free of her? He knew the answer. Until he could confront her and get the truth he would never be free.

Kate was on fire. She had tracked down the agent at the crime lab and had the photo sent to the Secret Service. During her time in Washington she had amassed several markers and it was payback time. If you owed Katherine Beckett a favor she was calling it in. So far they were still sorting out videos. The picture on the other hand was turning out to be a gold mine.

The top geek at the Secret Service had advised her of a so-called "yellow tracking dot," that was embedded in photographs printed on some laser printers. Since laser printers have the capacity of printing near perfect counterfeit money, the "yellow-dot" was designed to allow the Secret Service to identify and track the printer by its serial number. Once they decoded the serial number from the "yellow-dot," they could track the printer through sales records to the purchaser. With any luck, the picture had been printed on a laser printer.

McCord returned to the living room to fine Alexis and Paula still sitting on the couch. She approached them, excused herself for interrupting and added, "Ladies, Agent Beckett has been removed from the field detail. Please advise Mr. Castle." Alexis stood, walked towards her father's bedroom and knocked. She entered to find him sitting on the bed staring at nothing. "Dad? Are you alright?" a worried Alexis asked. "Pumpkin, I'm fine, just thinking," he lied. "Well, Agent McCord wanted you to know Beckett's been pulled off your detail, so you don't have to worry…" she gently squeezed his hand as she softly spoke to him. Castle looked at his daughter and simply nodded. He let out a sigh, kissed her on the forehead and added, "Come on, let's go get some cupcakes. I hear they have an awesome bakery in Georgetown."

McCord was not pleased. Trekking to Georgetown for cupcakes, to a top tourist destination bakery was a security nightmare. But there had been no talking him out of it, he was going to get cupcakes, and that was that. McCord had finally caught a glimpse of that "nine-year-old," and they were headed for the sugar rush. Funny, he was laughing and playing with his daughter, but McCord could see the pain in his eyes; Richard Castle was a sad man. Perhaps the cupcakes weren't such a bad idea after all.

Kate was reviewing everything she could fine. She needed to get ahold of Castle's debriefing after his return from Lebanon. The photograph could be connected, after all it referenced his escape. Although widely known that he had escaped after being taken hostage in Syria, the particulars were never made public. Why he had been taken had remained classified until his book had been published. She had not read his book, she needed those notes. File in hand she sat at her desk and started reading.

CHAPTER 6

He'd arrived in Damascus after arranging to tag-along with a group of local revolutionaries that sold themselves as freedom-fighters. Along with two other freelance journalist he had embarked on an ill-advised quest. He'd stayed drunk the first two weeks, fancying himself a modern day Hemmingway.

Things had started to go south rather quickly. When one of the freelance guys bailed out, he had tried to convince Castle to leave with him, but he had refused. He was having "too much fun," he'd nonchalantly quipped. Soon the ragtag group had abandoned the cause and they had splintered, Richard Castle was left to fend for himself. His lifeline had been a young interrupter he had hired on his arrival.

Amir Dalila and his brother Constantine had found the famous American amusing. Amir had talked his way into a job with the American, and it wasn't long before his brother too was employed. Richard Castle paid them well and treated them with respect. Amir was his interrupter and Constantine their driver. They had stayed in Damascus not venturing too far out. Amir had warned Castle it was not safe, even in parts controlled by the government. "Mr. Rick, you must think everyone is plotting. No one is your friend." Castle had brushed it off; after all he trusted Amir and Constantine.

The Dalila family had taken to Richard Castle. He had been welcomed in their home and they had shared what little they had. Before the war the family had been what was considered middle-class. Educated and hardworking, the life they'd known, like so many others had been turned upside-down. Spending time with the Dalila's had provided Richard Castle a cause. After four months, his adventure was no longer a fanciful whim. With the help of Amir he sought out rebels, academics, and journalist, anyone willing to share their story.

They mostly traveled at night avoiding checkpoints and prying eyes. Amir kept warning him, but Castle felt invincible. He visited makeshift hospitals, and met with rouge individuals who refused to flee dangerous areas. He talked to anyone and everyone; after all it was all about the story. Reckless but steadfast, his resolved never wavered; Richard Castle was now on a mission.

Eventually they had gotten braver, or dumber, depending on whom you asked; venturing further and further away from the safer areas. Eight months later, deep into a firefight it had happened, in the confusion he had been separated from Amir. For days he hid, wondering among the rubble only to seek safer ground, trying to reconnect with Amir. He stayed away from people, having picked up only a few words, his language skills were useless. He stuck out like a sore thumb and he knew it. His cellphone was his only lifeline and it was almost dead and the small solar charger took time, time exposed that he could not risk. Amir was still unable to reach him, they were on opposite sides of a fight for territory. He had managed to survive for nine days, but on the tenth day his luck ran out.

He'd been asleep. Having found what he thought was a safe spot he had laid down to rest. He had no idea how long he'd been out before he was awakened by a boot to his ribs. He awoke gasping for air, disoriented and terrified. They had swiftly bound and gagged him while continuing their assault. They demanded to know where the other CIA agents were and threatened to kill him. They moved him three times before they finally shoved him in a hole so small he thought it was a grave. At night they would drag him out, tie his arms behind his back and dangle him just high enough to cause pain and allow them access to his already bruised and broken body. He had tried to keep track of the days, but between passing out and being kept in the dark, his best estimate was he'd been missing twenty-three days. It was during one of these beatings he had convinced the only English speaker to look him up. To google, YouTube, Facebook or Twitter his name; he was a writer not a spy. They must have found out who he was, because the next day he was given a reprieve. The beatings had stopped and he was given food and water. Two days later he was again dragged back to the barn where the beating took place. This time there was a chair in the center of the room. He was unceremoniously tied to the chair and questioned, occasionally slapped and spat on.

"Mr. Richard Castle," he had been shocked to hear his name come from his captor's lips. At least they knew who he was. "You are a rich man Mr. Castle, we are happy," his captor spat out venomously. "Glad I could brighten your day," he mindlessly said. The full force of the fist connected with his jaw. His head was violently tossed back, only to be met by another rock hard punch. The next thing he knew he was being brought to by a bucket of water being thrown in his face. He sputtered and spat, as his captor warned, "You want to be a funny man Mr. Castle? Because in my country, funny men die." He was rendered silent. His glib tongue was going to get him killed.

For the next week he was left in the barn. He had been allowed to wash and was provided clean clothing, something was up. He'd amused himself by giving his captors nicknames. There was the Professor, the only English speaker, Port-A-Potty John, a large brute of a man that was responsible for escorting him to the hole that was his toilet, Frasier and Ali, the thugs that took delight in beating him, and Harry Potter, a young, bespectacled teenager that flinched at any noise. With the exception of Harry, they all sent chills up his spine. He suspected there were others, but these were the central characters he saw every day.

Finally, after a week in the barn the Professor returned. "Mr. Castle, we have reached out to your family and they are willing to pay for your return," a boastful Professor said. He thought of his mother and Alexis, he would never forgive himself for what he was putting then through. "We make video, they want to see you. So you tell people you are okay." Before he knew what was happening Harry was in his face, cellphone in hand, recording. He looked straight at the camera, "My name is Richard Castle, I am well. Mother, Alexis, I love you and don't worry. I'll see you soon."

The next morning he was placed back in the hole. His reprieve however, did not last; three days later, the beatings continued. Apparently, there had been a problem with the video, the money had not been transferred. Frasier and Ali were making up for lost time, they were brutal. Richard Castle was sure he could not last much longer, time was running out.

talking It was dark when he came to. They had left him in the barn and he could hear the Professor to someone else in English, the tone was harried and curt. He could not make it out and before long he had lost consciousness again. He was roused up by a hand across his mouth, when he opened his eyes he recognized Amir. "Shhhhh, we have little time. Constantine will come for us tomorrow. Until then, you be good Mr. Castle. I promised we will get you home." Richard Castle nodded in acknowledgment, and closed his eyes as he watched his friend disappear into the darkness.

The next morning he was hauled away to the barn early. Frasier and Ali had given him a light workout that had left him spitting up blood. "Mr. Castle, we are fair people, but if your friends not transfer the money, we will kill you for the world to see," the Professor had promised. The Professor gestured to someone in the shadows. As he focused on the blurry figure, Castle recognized Amir. "Mr. Castle, my name is Amir, I know you must remember me, we met briefly in Damascus. I have convinced my brothers here to let me negotiate. They are unaware of the ways of America and I have told them they are wasting time with your family, we have contacted your publisher Black Pawn, they have more money. They have agreed to pay; the price is firm, fifty million and you go home." A second video was made, video in hand, Amir soon bid farewell to the others. For good measure Richard Castle received another beating.

He was back in his hole. The night air was cold and the ground freezing, Richard Castle resigned himself to his fate, and though not a religious man, prayed. Castle closed his eyes and thought of those he loved; his mother, his daughter and Kate, he wanted those to be his last thoughts.

His body was shivering uncontrollably, the cold burning into his bones. In the distance he could hear a celebration. Once they got their money, they would kill him, of that he was certain. Fifty million to Black Pawn was peanuts, and he knew they held more than that in insurance on him. They had taken out a high liability policy when he had signed up to shadow Beckett.

That night as he waited to die, two angels in the form of Amir and Constantine rescued Richard Castle. They had assured him it would be okay, and had shoved him in the trunk of an old Toyota. Even that tight space was better than the hole.

He's been taken by a band of bandits, his capture had been pure luck. They were not terrorist or rebels, just plain old criminals with a thirst for violence. Once they discovered who he was they had tried to ransom him off, but they had turned out to be as incompetent as they were violent. Amir and Constantine had continued to look for him, and once word got out that this band of misfits had an American, they had located them in Hamah. Amir had managed to talk himself into the captor's confidence, he knew time was of the essence. Word was already out, and an American hostage was a prized possession. When the initial ransom video exchange failed, Amir grabbed the opportunity to talk his way into the group. He convinced them he could get even more money from Black Pawn, and explained, he knew the American. The Professor had wanted to kill Castle, but Amir had convinced him to hold off, perhaps they could trade him to another group. All agreed the American still had value. While the band of misfits celebrated, Amir and Constantine had taken Castle and escaped.

It had all gone according to plan, they had grabbed Castle, stuffed him in the trunk of their car and fled. They had prepared well, they were headed towards Al Qusayr. Though normally an hour drive, taking back roads and making as few checkpoints as possible had turned it into a four- hour venture. They'd bribed their way past several checkpoints, and talked their way past the rest. Once they made it to Al Qusayr they breathed a sigh of relief.

They had sought refuge with distant relatives. When he finally came to, Castle was being cared for by a young woman he did not recognize. He was startled and disoriented, and panic was setting in when Amir returned to his side. "My friend, we are glad to see you are awake." They helped him to the bathroom, where he showered for the first time in god know how long. They gave him clean clothes and a hot meal. He was still in excruciating pain, everyone knew he needed medical attention, but right now what was important was that Richard Castle was alive and free.

The plan was to cross the border into Lebanon and get him to Beirut. Once there, they could reach out to the American Embassy, and he would be safe. Amir had with him Castle's passport, money and a flash drive he found among his things. He had located them before Castle's room had been looted, when word he was missing got out.

Amir had brought Castle up to date. He had been missing for forty-two days. He and Constantine had been close to finding him just before he had been moved to Hamah. But they had lost contact and it had taken them weeks to locate him again.

Castle was worried, he did not want to endanger Amir and his family. He was in a government-controlled zone, perhaps he should just seek assistance. "Mr. Rick, I told you before, you must think everyone is plotting. No one is your friend." Amir assured Castle they were safe, his parents were home in Damascus, but had convinced Amir, and Constantine to take their sister and leave Syria. Their father had given then enough money to tempt the border guards and the name and phone number of an old friend in Lebanon.

The next morning, before the crack of dawn, Richard Castle and his rescuers were off to the border. Amir's uncle had contracted a professional guide; for enough money he would get the three of them across. The American, was on his own. If he could walk, he would have no problem crossing.

Along with his passport and the flash drive, Amir had handed Castle, five thousand dollars that were hidden in his hotel room. He was sure the money would come in handy. The border was crowded with refugees, Castle doubted this would be an easy process. A cousin had driven them as close as he could get, they would have to walk the rest of the way. Amir and Constantine practically carried Castle for two miles before they reach the crossing.

Castle was adamant, he would not cross until Amir, Constantine and their sister Muna were safely across. Castle took Amir aside and asked, "How much money do you have?" Amir, averted his eyes; these were private matters. "Mr. Rick, we have enough, do not worry yourself." Castle took a painful breath and added, "Amir, you stand a better chance with more money, let me help," and handed Amir the five thousand dollars. "This is too much, I thank you my friend," hesitantly Amir accepted half.

Castle was right, money talked. The guide had been given one thousand U.S. dollars and had moved them to the head of the line. At the crossing, the guide had taken care of the Syrian guards and safely seen them through. Once on the other side, each had paid six hundred U.S. dollars and had been given a temporary visa to enter Lebanon. Adrenaline, a few hundred dollars and his U.S. Passport had gotten Castle across.

They crammed into the first taxi they'd found, promising the driver triple the fare for the seventy-five-mile drive to Beirut. Two hours later, they were pulling up to the U.S. Embassy; Richard Castle had never been so happy to see an American flag. "Mr. Rick, we cannot go inside. We leave you here. We will be alright," explained Amir. Castle was at a loss. How could he let these people go after they had saved his life? "Amir, I need you to trust me, the same way I've trusted you. Now wait here." Castle stumble up the Embassy steps, presented his passport and was helped inside. Once through the door, Richard Castle collapsed.

Before he agreed to any medical care, Castle provided an embassy envoy a brief synopsis of the last forty-eight hours. Arrangements were made and Amir was allowed to see him. Castle told Amir a suite with two rooms had been reserved for him and his family at a hotel downtown. All expenses would be covered, they would want or need for nothing. Amir, tears in his eyes was rendered speechless. He did not know how to thank his friend. "Listen Amir, the Ambassador will be contacting a local attorney that will help you. I know you said you have family in Vancouver and would like to join them. I promise you, I will do everything possible to make that happen. Now go and do not worry. I will be in touch." Castle shook his friend's hands, palming over all his remaining cash.

CHAPTER 7

He spent twenty-four hours in Beirut before being evacuated to a medical facility in Germany. He was severely dehydrated, had a broken wrist, three fractured ribs, a bruised lung, a torn meniscus, a bruised patella, pneumonia, and dysentery. Alexis and Martha had flown to Germany, and arrived two days later. He had been debriefed by Military Intelligence and several other unnamed agencies; they had all told him what he already knew, he was a lucky man.

No ransom was ever paid, and it was unlikely they would ever discover the identities of this captors. He remained in the hospital for almost a month. By the time he was released, he'd lost eighty-three pounds and had penned the beginnings of his novel.

After putting the file down, Kate caught herself crying. He had almost died, and all because he was running away. This was her fault.

Castle had been kidnapped by a band of misfits, she doubted whoever was sending the threats was connected. This was some crackpot capitalizing on Castle's horrific ordeal, wanting their five minutes of fame.

The Secret Service had come through, the picture had been printed on a commercial laser printer with an identifiable "yellow-dot." The company that had purchased the printer had gone out of business, but they were sending over the owners contact information. Within forty-five minutes Katherine Beckett was on the Parkway headed towards Baltimore.

Mr. Winston Applegate lived on a quiet cul-de-sac with carefully manicured lawns and perfectly kept home. After the twins left for college, he, his wife and their nine pound Shih Tzu were the sole inhabitants of the large colonial home. He had greeted Agent Beckett and provided all the records he had. He had retired and closed his real estate office two years ago. What had not been tossed or sold had been donated. He remembered the printer because he had paid a "bundle" for it. One of his young associates had convinced him they could print their own brochures, leaving out how expensive the ink would be. He had sold the printer to a local businessman who wanted it for his son. Mr. Applegate was unable to locate a receipt, nor did he remember the man's name, but did recall he had paid him with a check. Perhaps that would help. Beckett took down the information, obtained a release, and thanked him for his cooperation. Her next stop was the bank.

Mr. Applegate had contacted the bank and they were waiting for Agent Beckett. The branch manager escorted her to his office and they began the process of sorting through the accounts deposits. It did not take long, and they were in luck, the deposited check was also from their bank. Several minutes later, information in hand Beckett headed towards Mr. Arthur Preston's address. In stark contrast to the Applegate's home, the Preston house had seen better days. The lawn was unkempt, the shutters were drawn and the paint peeling. She parked a few doors down and decided to canvas the neighborhood, perhaps talk to the neighbors.

A quick background on Arthur Preston revealed he had recently passed away. Arthur Preston was a widower, and retired engineer. Prior to his death he lived with his thirty-two-year-old son, Simon Preston; Simon fancied himself a writer. She placed a call to McCord and brought her up to speed. The house appeared empty, but she would sit on it until they could obtain a warrant. She had already called Baltimore PD and they were in route.

Wheels were set in motion. Preston's picture had already been sent out as a person of interest in the Castle case. Beckett was awaiting Baltimore PD and a warrant. Two units arrived within ten minutes and started to canvas the neighbors. No one had seen Simon Preston in four days, but had noticed his car at the home the night before. According to the neighbors after his father's death, Simon had been even more elusive and withdrawn than usual. The neighbors described him as odd but harmless.

Beckett was running out of patience, she had been waiting over an hour for the warrant; she wanted to get inside that house. Twenty minutes later, warrant in hand, they entered. The house was dark and smelled of mildew and stale sweat. The initial search confirmed it was empty. The kitchen was dirty and littered with empty food boxes and dirty dishes. Dust and dirt permeated every room. Kate diligently worked her way through the house, searched every drawer and cabinet. When she entered the den, she found what she'd been looking for, proof positive this was their guy. As she stood, doing a three sixty visual inspection of the room, she spotted it, right there on the back of the door, pictures of Richard Castle. The door was used as a giant bulletin board. There were clippings of Castle's interviews after his return to the States. Copies of pictures of Castle in the hospital, still sporting a beard, along with one the day he was released, accompanied by Martha and Alexis. Prominently featured was an old picture of Richard Castle with Simon Preston at what appeared to be a book signing event.

Kate continued to search, looking for more evidence and perhaps a clue as to where Simon Preston could be. Her heart skipped a beat when under a stack of papers, she came face-to-face with a picture of Richard Castle, the back jacket of his book. Kate opened the front cover and read the inscription, "Simon, it's about the story, find your story. Best of Luck, Richard Castle." Kate slammed the cover shut and hissed, "Son of a bitch created his own story!" The printer was located, and a sample printed to confirm the "yellow dot" identifier. The printer and all other evidence would be impounded, but she would take the sample to their lab for comparison.

Kate left the evidence collection in the capable hands of the Baltimore PD and headed back to D.C. She called McCord and confirmed Preston was their man. Facial recognition could now be used against the hotel videos, he had to be there somewhere.

CHAPTER 8

Simon Preston could not understand why such little press had been given to his story. It had everything, a famous character, fear, unknown villains, danger and intrigue. He'd chosen a paper he knew would have few competing stories, he'd also sent a copy to Castle himself, which had not been easy. Why had no announcement been made to cancel future events? Where was the extra security? Where were the news crews clambering for interviews? Intrigue, mystery, danger, he was covering all the bases.

Little did Simon Preston know that the press machine that was Paula Haas, had advised the news outlets Mr. Castle would be addressing the threats at the event later that evening. A special Q & A had been added and all questions would be answered. Mr. Castle's statement on the incident was, "He believed this to be a prank from some misguided individual with no connection to the events in Syria. He would not alter his schedule and was not fazed by this, or any other threat. He would not be intimidated by cowards that hid behind masks or anonymity."

The mid-day news cycle led with the Castle story. Simon Preston was not amused. Richard Castle's statement had infuriated him. He would have to change the narrative. After all, it had been Castle himself who had suggested he _find his story_ , and find his story he had. Castle was reckless, and arrogant about his self-described "Sherlockian abilities to solve crimes," and Simon wanted to put those skills to the test. They would never find him. He would continue to toy with Castle until eventually, he'd have his proper ending.

Kate was back in the office, headed straight for the tech geek. She needed to compare the yellow dot from the picture to that of the sample she ran from Preston's printer; she needed to confirm what she already knew. The tests took several minutes, but the picture sent to Castle and the one delivered to the paper had both been printed by the printer in Preston's home.

Kate returned to her desk and called McCord. Rachel McCord was exhausted, Richard Castle had hours to kill before the evening's event and he had made it his life's mission to visit every crowded tourist stop. After getting cupcakes in Georgetown, he had decided to take Alexis to the International Spy Museum. Primarily aimed at children, the museum is interactive and displays many international espionage artifacts. It provides stories of famous spy cases and even offers a GPS guided tour of D.C. with a spy mission undertone. Castle played with every imaginable gadget, and he and his daughter appeared to have fun. Rachel McCord knew one thing, it was going to be a long day.

Time constraints had prohibited the GPS Spy Tour, but Richard Castle was on a mission, and Rachel McCord was sure that mission was to drive her crazy. After the Spy Museum, they had gone to the Shake Shack for a late lunch. Then, what she was sure was done out of bravado, sheer stupidity, or in-your-face arrogance towards those threatening him, Richard Castle toured Ford's Theater.

The crowds loved it, he was mobbed at Ford's Theater. He took pictures with everyone and anyone that asked, signed programs, shirts, hats and anything precented. It was not long before the media and some paparazzi's join the tour train. McCord was not happy. At three-thirty when Paula called Alexis and request she return him to the hotel to get ready, Richard Castle, had no choice. His days' escapade was done, and he pouted the whole drive back. "Nine-year-old on sugar rush," Kate Beckett had hit the nail on the head with that description, a weary McCord thought.

They were back at the hotel within twenty minutes. Paula was livid, they had less than an hour and a half to get ready and be at the Newseum. The addition of the press Q & A would set everything back, it was going to be a long night and Paula knew Rick was not up to it. That million dollar Castle smile was a façade and she knew it better than most.

Kate was still working the video angle. With the suspect identified, facial recognition should be able to spot him. She suspected this was a one man operation, so that meant he had slipped that picture in the newspaper. After hours of watching, one of the agents had spotted it. There is was, simple as pie. Preston had obviously conducted recognizance, he knew when the papers were delivered. Appearing as a guest pulling a small, wheeled bag, Preston fit right in. Video showed him stopping at the door of Castle's room, bending over and a few moments later continuing on his way. The suitcase obscuring the paper on the floor, provided him the perfect opportunity to insert the picture and continue undetected. But a closer look, definitely captures the newspaper had been moved.

CHAPTER 9

It was a quarter to six when Castle, sporting a formal tuxedo, with a crisp white shirt and a full Windsor knotted tie strolled out of his room. Accompanied by his daughter, who looked stunning in a royal blue, tight-fitting evening gown, Richard Castle looked the part; successful, rich, handsome, and carefree.

She knew where he was headed. Kate Beckett knew Simon Preston would be at the Newseum, and she was going to find him. Hundreds of people would be there, she'd be careful, Castle would never know. McCord had doubled the agents, the venue would be swarming with cops, both local and federal.

The event was advertised as an evening with Richard Castle. Cocktails, a sit-down dinner, a panel discussion headed by the author himself, and an opportunity to win one of three personalized copies of his new book and a photo op. Tickets for the event ran a thousand dollars a person and included a copy of his new book. All the night's proceeds would benefit the Syrian Humanitarian Relief Fund. The event had sold out two hours after tickets went on sale. It was expected to be a who's who of Washington elite.

Kate arrived at the Newseum trying to remain in the shadows. She was not dressed for the event, and stuck out like a sore thumb. McCord was worried, but glad to have Beckett nearby. Richard Castle may not have wanted her there, but tonight was about keeping him safe, not guarding his hurt feelings.

The press Q & A started at six-thirty sharp. Held in the Broadcast Studio of the Newseum it provided the perfect setting. It was transmitted to the guest downstairs, so they could view it as they enjoyed the cocktail hour. Castle was his typical witty self. He assured them he had no specific information as far as the investigation into the threat was concerned, but was confident the authorities had it well in hand. Asked if he was afraid, in typical Castle fashion, he quipped, "I live in New York and take the subway every day; I fear nothing." This elicited laughter from the press corps. He was also asked if after his stint in Syria, he now considered himself a journalist. For the first time that night, the Q & A took a serious tone. Castle took a breath and answered, "I am a writer, I tell stories. How those stories come about differ, but, in the end it's all about the story." After a few more questions Castle closed the Q & A by thanking them for their service and reiterating his admiration for the press corps and those who put themselves in harm's way so that the stories of those around the world, in places besieged by war and unspoken horrors are told.

Kate remained downstairs in The New York Times Great Hall of News, where Castle would soon join three hundred guests for a formal sit-down dinner. She had seen the Q & A and could not help admire his new found passion. He looked good, the perfectly tailored tux made his thinner frame look sculptured.

The dinner went off without a hitch. Against the advice of the security detail, he mingled with those in attendance, visited different tables and stopped to talk to anyone who asked a question. Alexis and Paula soon stopped trying to follow him around and sat, watching as Richard Castle played, Richard Castle.

She had managed to sneak a glimpse at him here and there, noticing he always had a tumbler of scotch in his hand. This was not the Castle she knew, her Richard Castle would enjoy one or two drinks at these functions, but limit it to no more than that. Castle's choice of inebriant had always been people and smart conversation, not liquor.

The end of the evening was nearing, the raffle for the autographed books was taking place and the guest were anxious. The first winner was an elderly female, who had received the evening's ticket as a retirement gift from her boss. A long time Castle fan, she was ecstatic and swooned when Castle kissed her cheek during the photo op. The second winner was a journalism student at Howard University, and the third winner was the teenage daughter of a local car dealer, who had been dragged to the event by her parents.

It was eleven o'clock and the evening was wrapping up, and still so sign of Preston. Perhaps they had over thought this. As the staff cleared the tables, Castle mingled with the last few guests, among them the President of Black Pawn Publishing, and several members of the board at the Newseum. Everyone was pleased with the events outcome. Castle was grateful and thanked them for the charity event.

Kate was still shadowing him; though well behind the scenes, she had not been far from him the entire night. McCord advised the detail they were on their way out and ordered the car be brought to the front. Everyone was in place, Castle lagged behind as Alexis and Paula chatted and walked ahead. McCord and Rogers followed close by, watching the perimeter of the large hall.

He came out of nowhere, dressed in a waiter's uniform and disguised. In a split second Simon Preston was headed towards Richard Castle. Alexis and Paula were whisked away as McCord and Rogers rushed in. But Kate had seen the flash of movement before anyone else; she'd gotten to Castle at the same moment Preston had. Castle, a drink away from being totaling drunk, had been slow to react, but had managed to shield himself from the knife Preston brandished. Before long, McCord, Rogers and Beckett had disarmed Preston while other agents hustled Castle to safety.

As they recovered and caught their breaths, Preston was handcuffed and handed over to arriving D.C. police. "Where the hell was he? We checked every employee!" fumed McCord. Just then McCord looked at Kate who was grabbing her left side. "Think he knocked the wind out of me," huffed Kate as she bent over. At that instant Katherine Beckett collapsed. Rogers rushed to her side as McCord called for medical assistance. Rogers pulled back Beckett's navy blue blazer and noticed the large pool of blood. Katherine Beckett had been stabbed.

Beckett, now conscious, stubborn and willing to concede nothing was rushed to George Washington University Hospital, insisting it was only a scratch. But as they approached the emergency room, McCord could see it was serious. Beckett was losing steam quickly and the bleeding had not stopped. She was pale and having difficulty breathing.

Richard Castle was escorted back to the hotel. Due to the events of the night, as an extra precaution a team would remain outside for the duration of his stay in D.C. Greeted by a hysterical Paula and Alexis, he soon convinced them he was fine and the bad-guy was in custody. Castle thanked the security detail and retreated to his bedroom. Everything was a blur, all he remembered was the knife and a group of agents, whisking him away as other agents took the bad guy down.

Katherine Beckett was in serious condition. A CT scan had determined the stab wound had lacerated her spleen, she would need emergency surgery.

The next morning, unaware of Kate's injuries, Castle boarded a flight back home. He was glad to be leaving D.C. The incident had been downplayed and news of Kate's injury had not been released. Since Richard Castle had not been hurt, Simon Preston was yesterday's news before dawn had broken. He was relegated to page ten of the local newspaper.

Twenty-four hours later, Kate awoke to find her father by her side. "Sorry dad," she apologetically said. Jim Beckett was glad to see his daughter was alright. Not one to enjoy being hovered over, he knew it was time to go home when on the fourth day Kate threatened to charge the hospital staff with holding her against her will.

They had repaired the spleen and the doctors assured her, in time, she should make a full recovery. She needed four to six weeks of rest and up to six months of limited activity. A laceration to the spleen was a serious injury and Katherine Beckett could not brush that off. Jim Beckett's last official dad duty while in D.C. had been to see his daughter home and covertly notify Lanie, in case of an emergency. Lanie was pissed, she assured Jim Beckett she would take care of Kate and for him to go home and not worry.

Two days after her father returned home, Katherine Beckett was awoken by fierce pounding on her door. As she looked through the peep-hole, Beckett closed her eyes and uttered, "Oh shit." She opened the door to a barrage of insults, Lanie Parrish was not to be messed with. "Girl, were it not cause you just had surgery, and they patched up your spleen, I would beat on you!" She knew it was wrong keeping this from her friend but she hated to depend on people. "Why are you out of bed?" continued Lanie. "You were banging on my door." "Now don't sass me, get back in bed!" Kate headed back towards her bedroom without a single word.

After a short nap Kate awoke to the smell of Lanie's cooking. It appeared Lanie was there for the duration. She showered and dressed, in sweats and a tee-shirt, and walked into the kitchen to properly greet her friend. "Lanie, I'm sorry. The doctor said I'll make a full recovery and I didn't want to worry you. I'm sidelined for a while, that's all," an apologetic Kate declared. "Kate, you sometimes forget I went to medical school. I called your doctor. Told them I was your doctor of record; I still have that form you signed when you were with NYPD. A little whiteout to the date and voila! I also talked to McCord; you are out for another four weeks and then you're on desk duty for four months, so don't even try," a frustrated Lanie chimed. "It's Wednesday, I have to go back to work on Monday and you are coming home with me. No if's and's or but's. You have a doctor's appointment Friday and we fly out right after that. Lanie was adamant. Kate knew when to throw in the towel. She'd visit, let Lanie and Esposito play nursemaid for a week or so, then come home.

On Friday she got the all clear from her doctor and flew to New York with Lanie. If nothing else she'd get a few day of rest and relaxation, and catch up with Espo. Maybe even drop by Ryan's and visit with Jenny and the kids. It was going to be fun. If repeated enough, maybe she could convince herself too.

Esposito picked them up at the airport, and was glad to see Beckett was alright. Kate Beckett had been the glue that held their homicide squad together. Once she left, Esposito and Ryan were not far behind. Tensions had remained strained between him and Ryan, and soon he had gone looking for a new home. With his military background and investigative experience it had not been long before the NYPD anti-terrorism unit came knocking. He jumped at the chance and left the Twelfth behind. Ryan had taken the Sergeants test and soon been promoted, but had remained at the Twelfth.

They had a quiet dinner, had caught up on trivial gossip and exchanged war stories. Conversations were tense and they always avoided the elephant in the room. Tonight however, Javier Esposito was getting close to the fire. "Hey chica, I heard what happened. You saved Castle's life didn't you?" Kate, feeling uncomfortable and cornered, looked away. Espo knew that look, she did not want to talk about it. "Espo, you know how it is; you do the job, plain and simple." Lanie kicked her husband under the table, warning him to leave the subject alone.

Time went by quickly, she was improving daily and was now venturing out. She had dinner at Ryan and Jenny's and even stopped by the Precinct to see Karpowski and LT. A week had stretched into two and she was ready to go home. Later today she would meet the old gang at Remy's for lunch, just like old times; well, almost. New York was a dangerous playground for Kate Beckett, she needed to get back home.

CHAPTER 10

He'd gotten very little information on Simon Preston. The attack had been a blur. He was drunk and sluggish and it had slowed down his reflexes. Before he knew it, he was being hustled out, as other agents struggled with his attacker. He'd been told Preston had a knife and an agent had been slightly injured. Preston had been declared mentally unstable, and committed to a psychiatric facility. There would be no trial.

Preston had attended numerous of his book signings and had fixated on him. He believed killing Richard Castle would provide him the ultimate story and make him famous. The investigation revealed Preston had all his books, and all the Nikki Heat books were signed. Preston was one of the thousands of unknown faces he saw during those events. Even now, Nikki Heat brought him nothing but trouble.

He was glad to be home. Three weeks after D.C. he was getting back his stride. His current book was a runaway best seller and Black Pawn had offered him an ungodly amount of money to write anything he wanted. Richard Castle was ready to get back on the merry-go-round and he had a perfect character and a new series in mind. A darker, more sinister character. Unlike Derrick Storm and Nikki Heat, Richard Castle's new lead was out to destroy and kill, not help and save. He had pitched the idea to Alexis and had not received a nod of approval. Castle had explained it was basically the same type of storyline and character he'd always written. He had described it as, "the flip side of the same coin." He, however, had not been able to convince Alexis.

The years at the Twelfth had provided him enough background and research to write twenty more books. Between Nikki Heat and Derrick Storm, Richard Castle had experienced the darkest and cruelest sides of human nature. His imagination and creativity would do the rest.

He was on a roll, he had gotten up early and made his way to the storage facility. He needed his notes. The new character, inspired by Simon Preston, but with the smarts of Jerry Tyson and Scott Dunn would provide an endless amount of terror for his readers. This time it was not about how to catch the bad guy, this time it was how to let him get away.

The story was writing itself. At times it scared him, that he was capable of such writing evil and cunning. His new character Dunston Wilde, was described as a handsome, witty man who could charm the pants off anyone. Wilde was powerful, rich and had a thirst for murder. He was brilliant and had succeeded in eluding authorities; they had never even come close. His only interest was the story after the body was cold. In a moment of weakness, Wilde had set himself up for a challenge, a challenge he had perhaps underestimated.

He was taking great joy in writing this character. The crimes were graphic, and he wrote them with calculating accuracy and detail, however, it was the character development he was enjoying. A detective, a young inexperienced female, newly assigned to homicide, she would be Wilde's target. Not for murder, but for a good cat and mouse game; she'd be more of a pawn. Shrewd, with Machiavellian delight, Wilde was turning into his favorite character. Murder aside, Richard Castle liked this guy.

He needed more background. Motive, frame of mind, the pulse that pushed him. Jerry Tyson had been killed in a shootout with Boston Police a few years back, Simon Preston was a few fries short of a Happy Meal, and so medicated that an interview would be useless. Scott Dunn was in a Super Max in Colorado and far from accessible. His files, based on notes he kept while at the Twelfth covered most information on the crimes, but suspect information was minimal, since he'd change that for the Nikki Heat series. His agreement with the NYPD had always prevented him from getting too detailed in order to avoid any problems prosecuting the perpetrators. Perhaps he could access the case files, they would provide more information. Then he remembered, Harrison Tisdale, the one that had started it all. Good looking, given every advantage a privileged life could provide, yet he had murdered his sister and two others. Perhaps Tisdale could give him more insight. His father's money had kept him off death row, but not from a life sentence. In the end, all the money he clamored and killed for had gone to a homeless shelter established in his sisters name.

The call had come as a surprise, Sergeant Kevin Ryan had not heard from Richard Castle in years. Ryan had called him after his return from Syria, but had never connected. He had not called a second time. Could they meet? Castle needed a favor.

Ryan had always liked Castle. He had admired the writer and had considered him a friend. He had rooted for him in his pursuit of Beckett and had never figured out what had gone wrong. They had been a tight crew, Beckett, Castle, Esposito and him. He had worried about his friends when they had gone rogue, and had told Gates what they were up to. It had caused him their bond, but had saved their lives. Kevin Ryan had lamented, but never regretted that decision.

They met at Remy's. The old hang-out remained the same. Ryan spotted Castle as he walked in; he was thinner, a bit gray around the temples and was missing that Castle spark. Richard Castle looked tired. They chit-chatted, exchanging pleasantries and nothing else. Castle asked about Jenny and the kids, Ryan about Martha and Alexis. "So, what can I do you for?" inquired Ryan. "Well, to be honest, I need to find where Harrison Tisdale is being held. I'm working on a new book and I've had no luck tracing his current location." Castle had gone through the Department of Correction, but their record keeping was inadequate at best, and Tisdale had been transferred several times, the paperwork always lagging behind.

He decided to press his luck and ask to see the interview notes on Tisdale and Dunn. Ryan reminded Castle that Dunn had been federally charged, so all those records were with the FBI. However, Tisdale he might be able to help with. "You know Castle, you have the luck of the Irish," a smiling Ryan said. He explained how the precinct was currently undergoing an inspection and inventory review. All old files were being scanned, complying with the new paperless policy, and Sergeant Ryan was in charge of overseeing this, as well as the inventory of all old stored records at the Twelfth. "Give me a few days, let me see what I can dig up." Castle thanked his old friend, and they parted ways.

CHAPTER 11

She was climbing the walls, it had been three months and she was still on desk duty. The paperwork was driving her insane and the walls were beginning to close in. There was no way she could drive a desk for another month.

Saturday she started to formulate a plan. She had a doctor's appointment Monday, she would get him to release her early. Dr. Lang was sweet on her and she was hoping to convince him she would play nice and stay out of harm's way if he placed her back on full duty. With a pep in her step and a plan for Monday, she decided to treat herself and spend the day among the shops in Georgetown.

She'd made her way to Bridge Street Books, near Foggy Bottom. She loved spending the day among the books, looking for just the right one. A small independent bookstore, it provided her a little piece of heaven. It also allowed her to avoid the best-seller displays that littered the large chain bookstores; displays she did not want to see.

His book had been on the New York Times bestsellers list for twenty-eight weeks, and by all indications it was poised to remain there. Richard Castle was an unmitigated success in the literary world, no longer just a mystery writer, but now a serious novelist too.

She stopped at the local coffee shop and picked up some tea. There were times she still hungered for a tall skinny latte, vanilla, with two pumps and no sugar, but she hasn't had one in years; they didn't quite taste the same. For the last five years Katherine Beckett has been a tea drinker, and on those rare occasions she had coffee, it was simply black.

She walked into the shop, tea in hand looking to find a good book and relax. The staff recognized her, waved and let her continue on her way. They knew she liked to be left alone to browse. Kate walked the rows of books coming face to face with a display, the one she had been avoiding. The poster taunted the book as a riveting, first-hand account of survival. Stories of people and their struggles in a war-torn nation, and the writer trying to get those stories out. The book included a picture of Castle, greeting Amir, Muna and Constantine at the Vancouver International Airport just shortly before it was published. True to form, the back jacket showed a younger, ruggedly handsome Castle, no doubt a picture selected by Paula or Gina. She took a book from the display, found a comfortable chair and started reading.

At a quarter to three, when her growling stomach was too loud for even her to ignore, she closed her book and walked over to a nearby deli. She could not put it down, the stories were riveting and his struggle to get those stories poignant. She knew she'd eventually get to the hard part, his capture, and it tugged at her heart. She loved the writer before she loved the man, and his stories always hypnotized her, Richard Castle brought life to the printed page. He was a masterful storyteller.

After lunch she went back to the bookstore, picked out a few more books and went home. She'd read a hundred and sixty-three pages, but the rest she wanted to read in private. She would be spending the weekend with Richard Castle, and she knew it would not be easy. Once home, she put on a pair of yoga pants, a baggy tee-shirt and some warm socks, curled up on her couch and continued reading. She could not turn the pages fast enough, the six hundred and twenty-four page book read itself.

Around six-thirty she took a break, and brewed some tea. Her tee-shirt, already tear stained, forced Beckett to put the book down and grab some tissues. She had read the news articles, she guessed it was a lot worse than they were letting on, but she had no idea. She knew Richard Castle, and when it came to serious business he was not one to seek the spotlight. Whatever had been printed, was nowhere as bad as what had really happened.

It could not have been easy to write. She felt every vulnerable moment, every punch, and every kick. She could sense his fear, his dread, his hopelessness and despair. Katherine Beckett openly wept as she read his account of those terrifying weeks. It was two in the morning when, after reading the same paragraph four times, she gave in and went to bed. By nine o'clock Sunday morning she had showered, dressed and taken her book out to her terrace. That evening as she read the final chapter, every part of her being ache for him. She was both mad and proud of him for putting himself in that position; she wanted to comfort him and kiss away the nightmares she knew still woke him in the middle of the night.

CHATER 12

Kevin Ryan was nothing if not organized and diligent. He had set-up a system and between him and three officers the records room was beginning to take shape. He had been unable to locate the Tisdale file, but was making progress. He had however, located Tisdale at the Clinton Correctional Facility in upstate New York. He called Castle, gave him Tisdale's current home address, and prisoner identification number and promised to call when he had the file.

It was Thursday, and the dust had Kevin Ryan sneezing and wheezing beyond control. He had taken a break and decided to work on several unmarked boxes that had been stashed at the rear of a cabinet. Ryan took some Zyrtec, placed some drops in his eyes and went at it. One of the boxes contained old pictures of the Precinct's softball team, various holiday parties and celebrations. He thought these should be scanned and shared, perhaps sent to the NYPD Retired Detectives Association. Another box had in-house disciplinary memos too old for anyone to care. He looked through them noting they were all past the required retention date, and marked them for destruction. The third box had a destruction order taped on top, but had apparently been misfiled. The moment Ryan opened the box he froze. The box contained several files, among them, one labeled Beckett, Katherine, another Esposito, Javier. It was Gates investigation of Beckett and Javi, just before she suspended them. It listed the many departmental violations, including disobeying a direct order, dereliction of duty, use of departmental resources for personal gain, to list a few. The files included a termination packet for Beckett, addressed to One PP and a six- month, unpaid suspension recommendation for Esposito. Apparently, Gates had reconsidered, since neither memo had been signed.

The investigation was thorough, after all Victoria Gates had cut her teeth in the Internal Affairs Division of the NYPD. She had pulled files, records, documents, anything and everything related to Beckett's shooting, as well as her mother's murder and the string of coincidental murders that followed. The box also contained a sealed envelope addressed to Captain Gates. Ryan put the small bubbled envelope aside while he read the remainder of the file.

For a completed investigation, there was little substance. Ryan suspected Gates had discovered Montgomery was somehow involved and did not want to drag the department, and her division through the mud. After all, Montgomery was dead and Beckett and Esposito were back in the fold. Stirring things up would not look good and Ryan believed Gates had only discovered enough to suspect, but not enough to prove anything. In the end, the files and been stuck in a box and forgotten, victim to poor record keeping and poor follow-through.

By noon his allergies had cleared, but his stomach was complaining. He closed the box, placed the envelope in his pocket and went to lunch. After a greasy burger that hit the spot, Ryan returned to the precinct. One of the benefits of being an Administrative Sargent was that he had his own office. He sat behind his desk, ripped open the envelope and discovered two USB's. Curious he turned on his laptop and inserted one. It contained an audio file, it was labeled with dates. As he clicked open the files he realized it contained the recorded conversations from Esposito's designated precinct telephone line. The conversations were casual, mostly business related. There were calls to the lab, witnesses, records, Carlos Pizza and a slightly steamy conversation between Esposito and Lanie. He suspected the next USB was more of the same, and he was right. These were Beckett's personal precinct line conversations. Beckett's calls were a bit more incriminating if you knew what to look for. She had several calls to William Bracken's Senate Campaign Office, asking for the senator's schedule, there were calls to Lanie, calls to Records, asking for vehicle plate information and other police related calls. He was just about to stop, but found the next call odd. It was the Desk Sergeant, advising he had a call to transfer, the caller would not give his name but insists on talking to Detective Beckett. Kevin Ryan was not prepared for what came next. "Beckett," he hears her typical greeting, _"Drop it, let it go, or we promise, you will regret it. You can watch as we kill the writer and the pretty little redhead, and I'll take my time with her first,"_ it was followed by a deathly click. The voice sent chills up Ryan's spine. It took him a few minutes to recover, as he looked at the date and noted it.

Ryan was stunned, he figured Gates had requested the recordings, and in the meantime, had put the investigation to rest, not bothering to listen to the USB files. Shoved in the investigative file box, the recordings were destined for destruction, only to be serendipitously found. "Luck of the Irish, that man has the luck of the Irish."

He sat back, and replayed the chilling call, he recognized that voice; now if only he could place it. Kevin Ryan was determined. For the rest of the day he remained in his office, searching every memory he could access, trying to place a face to that voice. He pulled pictures of perps he, Beckett and Esposito had put away. Searched what files he could locate for suspects and witnesses; somewhere in one of those cases he would find him. By eight-thirty a worried Jenny was calling. He missed dinner she advised, "It's gonna be an all-nighter for me, don't worry. I'll be home as soon as I can." He was bound and determined to find this missing piece. By midnight he secured all the files, placed the USB's in his pocket and went home. Tomorrow, he'd figure this out tomorrow.

It had taken him four days and endless hours of listening to interviews before he'd found it. The words weren't as menacing and the tone complaisant and cooperative, but Kevin Ryan was positive he'd found the caller. It was late, almost time to call it a day when he strolled into Tory Ellis' office; he needed a favor.

CHAPTER 13

The voice analysis and comparison had not taken long, Tory was able to compare the voice of the call to that from an interview. Ryan was right, Evan Howard, Senator Bracken's former Chief of Staff was the voice on the other end. Now to find the son-of-a bitch. But first, Ryan needed to make a stop.

After Beckett and Esposito's suspension, relations among the one's close friends had been strained. Beckett had soon forgiven Ryan, realizing it had been his intervention that had saved her life. Esposito on the other hand, had viewed it as a betrayal. Javier Esposito had remained civil if for no other reason than to avoid recriminations from Lanie. Jenny and Lanie had attempted to maintain a friendship, but when Beckett left, contact was minimal.

Esposito had just gotten home. He'd worked two weeks straight and was off for the next four days. Lanie was cooking dinner and they had planned a quiet night at home. The knock at the door took them both by surprise. The doorman had not announced any guests and they were not expecting company. He opened the front door to lay eyes on the last person he expected to see, Kevin Ryan.

From behind a scowling Esposito, Lanie greeted Ryan, "Hey, Kevin, what are you doing in these neck of the woods? Is everything okay? Jenny and the kids alright?" She could not think of a single reason why Kevin Ryan would be at their door. Lanie asked Ryan in, giving her husband a shove and a "better behave" look. Ryan was not there to chit-chat, he had information to share. He also wanted to find Evan Howard and would like Esposito's help.

He sat and gave them a run-down of events. He explained, while looking through the unmarked boxes he'd come across Gates investigation. He told Javier about Gates initial recommendation and how the memo's had never made it to One PP. Ryan surmised, Gates had had a change of heart after she figured out what was really going on. However, unable to come up with anything concrete, she had opted to end her snooping, suspend them for thirty days and call it even. After all, Maddox was dead. The envelope, addressed to Gates had never been opened; she had never listened to the calls.

Ryan asked Lanie for her laptop, inserted the USB and went directly to the date in question. The words gave them all chills, " _...You can watch as we kill the writer and the pretty little redhead…"_ the threat was jarring. After everything that had happened, and everyone that had been killed, there was no reason to doubt the tenacity of the threat. They had killed before and would not hesitate to kill again. Castle and Alexis had been pawns in the game and the caller had put them in play.

They sat saying nothing as Lanie quietly wiped tears from her eyes. This was why Beckett had tucked tail and ran. The reason she walked away from Castle and eventually them. Katherine Beckett had metaphorically, thrown herself on the grenade. The silence was broken when Lanie said, "We have to tell Castle, he should know why she left." "We can't do that, not yet. We have to put this to rest. That's why I'm here," a solemn Ryan added. "I know who's on the other end of that call. Javi, I came here to ask you to help me get him. We don't have a case, the statute of limitations is long past on the verbal threat. This is personal." Javier Esposito stood, and said "Bro, let's go. Just tell me where."

Ryan told them about the voice match and how Bracken's former Chief of Staff, Evan Howard was the man on the other end of that call. After Brackens death, Howard had fallen out of favor. Bracken and his people were considered snobbish bullies that refused to play along. Howard was persona non grata in political circles. Fearing for his own safety, and without any prospects, he'd soon returned home to Paterson, New Jersey.

It was a little over an hour's drive from Tribeca to Paterson. Just like old times, Esposito had insisted on driving. The first twenty minutes were filled with awkward silence. Finally, Ryan spoke up. "I can't believe Beckett didn't tell us." "Beckett did what Beckett does. Took care of it herself. She wasn't gonna take any chances. You remember those last few months. They thought they were so slick, thought we didn't know they'd hooked up," for the first time in over an hour Javier Esposito smiled. "She looked happy, man. I'd never seen Beckett that happy before. Not with Demming, or Josh" somberly added Ryan. "Let's put this to rest for her," replied Esposito.

Evan Howard lived in a nondescript, two bedroom apartment off Church Street. He had married, and now taught political science at a local community college. Evan Howard was far from the political power broker he had been four years prior.

The knock on the door came unexpectedly. He thought that part of his life was well past him. But life had a way of catching up to you, and tonight life had caught up to Evan Howard. He had gone pale when his wife announced the police was at the door. Howard greeted the men and walked then to his office. "I knew sooner or later someone would come knocking," he said as he sat down.

Howard confessed to making the call. At the time, Bracken had told him Beckett was threatening to expose an affair he had had while D.A. He had no reason to doubt the Senator and believed the threat was only meant to keep Beckett at bay. Bracken was positioning himself for a run at the White House and Howard wanted to go along for the ride. He knew Bracken was a shady character, his finances were always suspect, but he never had any proof of any illegalities. The Senator conducted most of his dealings in private, and although they walked a thin line, he was never personally aware of any criminal wrongdoing. "Don't ask, don't tell, kind of thing," he added. He said he'd made calls to other Bracken foes, but admitted Detective Beckett's was the most chilling of all. Threats and intimidation were part of the job description, and so long as they weren't acted upon, Howard sadly admitted, he had no problems with them. "Politics, it's a nasty business," he added. Ryan and Esposito had recorded his confession and advised that a criminal complaint would be documented. They would be in touch. That night, Evan Howard put to rest some of his demons.

On the drive back, Ryan and Esposito aired out their own ghosts. They'd been partners and best friends for years. Ryan admitted he missed his friend. They agreed that there was a lot of water under that bridge, but that theirs was a friendship worth reconnecting. Esposito confessed he was grateful Ryan, Gates and the cavalry had shown up and saved his ass that day. Most of all, he'd been relieved to learn they had saved Beckett's life. They'd been a good team, there was no reason they could not be friends.

As they approached the city Ryan looked at Esposito and asked, "So how do you want to do this?" "Do what?" asked Javier. "Castle. How do we tell Castle?"

CHAPTER 14

It was a pleasant surprise when he'd gotten Ryan's call. It had been weeks since they'd spoken. He really didn't need any additional information, but spending a few minutes with Ryan would be a welcomed distraction.

The book was coming along. He was rather enjoying writing the killer persona. Though a despicable character, he was somewhat likable. He even had a working title, "Wilde Persuasion." At times he was conflicted. Correcting errors that had led to arrests of some of the more challenging cases they had solved, and allowing an out for the killers presented him with a moral dilemma. But it was a story, always just about the story.

Twenty minutes later when there was a knock at the door, he approached to greet Ryan. To his shock and amazement, Javier Esposito was right behind him. These two hadn't worked together in years. Something was up. He welcomed both men and walked them straight to his den. "So guys, what's up? I'm thinking this is not about the Tisdale file," a leery Castle inquired. "Well, I haven't found the Tisdale file yet, but honestly Castle, I've been preoccupied with another matter. That's what we're here to talk to you about," responded Ryan. They awkwardly took a seat, with Castle sitting behind his desk. The silence that followed was deafening. Esposito stood and soldiered on. "Castle, Ryan found something we think you need to know. We followed through on it and know who was behind it. Before we go into any details, we need you to hear something." Esposito walked behind the desk, USB in hand, while Ryan explained finding the box with Gates investigation. He talked about the sealed envelope and how no one had listened to the USB, much less looked into.

Castle took the flash-drive from Esposito, inserted it into his computer and waited for the files to download. He had no idea what could possibly be on this thing. Although steely calm on the outside, his nerves were on edge. When the files opened, he clicked and waited.

The unexpected sound of Beckett's voice weakened his resolve. He could feel his body deflate, he knew he'd gone pale. The audio was clear and resonated. They listened to several calls, among them one where he was heard reminding her they had a date. There was a call to the lab, another to the evidence room, and then, the voice of the Desk Sergeant requesting to transfer a call to her line. He was not prepared for what came next. _"Drop it, let it go, or we promise, you will regret it. You can watch as we kill the writer and the pretty little redhead, and I'll take my time with her first,"_ it was sinister and terrifying. He could sense the fear at her end; it had taken her awhile to hang-up.

He sat motionlessly. Nothing was said, Esposito and Ryan realized he needed time to absorb what he'd heard. He simply couldn't move, his brain incapable of forming a coherent sentence. Esposito cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Castle, it was Bracken," he and Ryan explained how Howard had made the call under Bracken's orders. They had apparently been getting close and Bracken needed to stop Beckett from investigating further. In an act of bravado, Kevin Ryan spoke. "Listen Castle, we don't know what happened between you and Beckett. But Javi and I think this is why she walked away. Why she left you, us and the NYPD." Castle rose, yanked the flash-drive out of the computer, handing it back to Ryan without a word. "No Bro, that's a copy. You can keep it," added Esposito. "Well, thanks for coming by. If there's nothing else…" taking the hint that they'd overstayed their welcome, Ryan and Esposito saw themselves out.

Richard Castle was numb. After Ryan and Esposito left, he reinserted the USB; for hours he listened to that call. The confident response of her name once the call was transferred, and then just silence; fear and dread palpable. Why was he so angry? Because she'd left; she'd done what she'd always done, she ran. She would always wage war alone, there was no room for anyone else; not even him. As dusk settled, he remained behind his desk, the vile echo of the message playing on.

Alexis arrived at a dark loft and the faint whispers of a voice emitting from her father's den. "Dad?" she turned on the lights as she walked in. _You can watch as we kill the writer and the pretty little redhead and…_ Castle quickly clicked the message off as Alexis froze mid stride. "Dad? What…" before she could complete the sentence Castle stood and walked towards her. "Alexis, I'm sorry I didn't hear you come in. It's nothing, let's go back to the living-room," a flustered Castle added. "No Dad! That was not _**nothing.**_ I most definitely heard, _kill the writer and the pretty little redhead,_ and I don't think they were referring to grams. Did someone threaten you again? Is this connected to what happened in D.C.? If it involves me, I deserve to know. I'm not a little girl!" Alexis was frustrated, angry and scared, she just couldn't decide which emotion was leading the pack. She was anchored in place, and there was no moving her. Castle knew when he'd been beaten. He let go of Alexis' arm, returned to his desk, adding, "You better sit."

He kept to the condensed version of events. He told her Ryan had found a box with old notes and in the process located a USB with Beckett's old phone calls. It was back when they were chasing people involved in Beckett's shooting and her mother's murder. No longer an open investigation, the threats were now baseless. He wanted to put her at ease and reassured her neither of them was in danger. The caller had been identified and was no longer a threat. He then proceeded to play the entire call. _"Drop it, let it go, or we promise, you will regret it. You can watch as we kill the writer and the pretty little redhead, and I'll take my time with her first."_ Alexis closed her eyes, gripped by the horror of the words and the magnitude of their meaning. Castle let the words hang, as the finality of the click from the telephone ended the conversation. With tears threatening, Alexis looked at her father, "Dad?" was all she could manage to say.

She sat in the barely lit office watching her father's face for some sign of emotion and saw none. "Dad that call... Is that why Beckett left? Was she trying to protect you? Us?" The speed in which he stood took her by surprise. Richard Castle was steadfast and firm when he said, "No Alexis, she left because she wanted to leave. This call is just what it is; nothing." "Dad…" "No Alexis, I don't want to discuss this ever again. You heard it, you know it's nothing to worry about and that's that. This conversation is over," and with that Richard Castle retreated to his bedroom.

Javier Esposito arrived home exhausted. The day had taken an emotional toll. No one knew Javier Esposito better than she, and deep down he was just a sensitive teddy bear of a man. She could tell it was not good, it was written all over his face. "Well, how'd it go? What did Castle say?" asked Lanie. In a flat tone, Esposito replied, "Not much. Ryan explained the whole box thing and the file. He listened to the call. We told him we found the guy that made the threat. That Bracken was behind it, and that was that." "What do you mean, _that was that_? Javi, she left to keep him and Alexis safe! Didn't he even acknowledge that?" "Nope. I'm sure he just need's time to figure things out. Now let's go to bed, it's been a hell of a long day." She needed to call Kate.

It was late, she'd promise Javier and Ryan she would wait until they talked to Castle. She had kept her promise. She would not let Kate be ambushed. Whatever happened next, Kate needed to know her secret was out.

CHAPTER 15

Exhaustion overtook him. When he awoke, the blinking fluorescent green numbers from his bedside clock that screamed twelve-twenty-seven betrayed his perception of time. He'd only been asleep for three hours.

The words kept replaying, " _You can watch as we kill the writer… You can watch as we kill the writer… You can watch as we kill the writer,"_ he couldn't shut his brain off. Thirty-three words, just thirty-three words had changed the course of his life. No, thirty-three words made her run. If thirty-three words could make her run, nothing could have made her stay.

Lanie's call had shaken her to the core. The words themselves were a blur. She remembered something about Ryan, a box, Gates, a USB, and her precinct calls. It had been a fluke; the secret she had concealed for so long had been discovered on a fluke. No one was ever supposed to know. She had needed to keep them safe, it had been her choice. But it had been Lanie's final words that had paralyzed her. Castle knew.

The muted red numbers of the alarm clock, taunted her. She tossed and turned, her head reeling with information. Lanie's call replaying itself, time and time again, the words echoing; _Castle knows, Castle knows…_ One in the morning and she was still awake, sleep eluded her.

New York at two in the morning could be freighting or cathartic, but little could frighten him tonight. He turned onto Broadway and walked. He needed to clear his head. The loft was closing in on him and he needed air. Resurrected ghosts, that's all this had accomplished. Ghosts of questions he'd long along put to rest. Ghosts of lost hopes and desires that had vanished along with her. He didn't need nor want explanations. Right now, all he wanted was for those words to go away, back in that long forgotten box.

Two and she was wide-awake. A million questions, her brain just wouldn't stop processing the events of the night. What was Gates looking for? What was Ryan doing rummaging through old boxes? Why was he so damn efficient and thorough? Why had he and Esposito gone to Castle? Why hadn't they called her first? Bracken, she had always known he was behind it.

She had relived that day a million times. She was getting ready to leave when the Desk Sergeant transferred the call. The words that followed sent chills up her spine. The emphasis on the word _**writer**_ , the revoltingly descriptive use of _**redhead**_ for Alexis, then just seventeen-years-old. The threats had kept her awake for months. Even after five years, there were nights when she could still hear the caller's deep, icy voice clear as day. She had no doubt they would follow through on the threat. There had been little left to the imagination, as to what they were capable of, and she was not going to take any chances; not with Castle and Alexis. By three o'clock she had given up on sleep and was lacing up her running shoes. Perhaps a run around the university track would make the loop running in her head stop.

He'd been walking for a while. The steady pace he'd hoped would drown out the questions in his head, instead created a cadence. He kept walking and the questions kept coming. Before he knew it he was at Penn Station. He had walked two and a half miles with no relief. The words still echoed.

The bright screen announced the schedules. Departures, arrivals, destinations, all flashed on the board. Twenty minutes later he was on a train. It was three in the morning when he took his seat and closed his eyes; he'd be at Union Station at seven. The rhythm of the train lulled him into a stupor, but his eyes would still not surrender. Sleep never came. He had four hours to think. By six he had plied himself with four cups of coffee and a decision. He would simply turn around and head back home. No harm no foul.

Campus Security knew her, she was no stranger to the guys on the midnight shift. They'd stop by, no doubt to make sure the lunatic running around the track at three-thirty in the morning was indeed their neighborhood lunatic. As the spotlight hit her, she smiled and waved them on. The stillness and quiet just magnified her thoughts. Four trips around the track equaled a mile; she was up to fifteen. Though it was only September the night was colder than she expected. She had left her apartment oblivious to the weather, wearing sweat pants and a long-sleeve tee-shirt; the chill was creeping up on her. Another complete trip around the track and she slowed to a fast walk. Perhaps her thoughts would follow suit.

It was a mile and a half walk back to her apartment. She was giving this too much thought. So what if Castle knew? It was a nonissue, she had not even reported the threat. The matter was closed, the case long forgotten. She took a deep breath as she walked through her door, continued straight to the bathroom and into a cold shower. It was Saturday, she could sleep in.

She stepped out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet and headed for the kitchen. As the kettle brewed, she looked out her terrace window. Dawn was breaking, time to put old memories to rest. The whistle of the kettle jarred her out of her thoughts. She pour herself a cup of tea and sat to watch the sunrise. It did nothing to lighten her burden, it was just another day, one in the string that had been the last five years. Except now there was no secret.

He arrived at Union Station at ten past seven in the morning; adrenaline and coffee keeping him upright. He exited onto the platform and headed straight towards the ticket counter. He needed to get back home. The next available train departed at nine twenty-five, he would be back at Penn Station by one in the afternoon.

Union Station, a majestic, archway filled marble masterpiece of architecture hummed with the traffic of weekend travelers. A transient city by nature, this Washington D.C. hub was heavy with traffic, and Richard Castle was caught in its cog. He worked his way to Starbucks, contemplated its long line, but surrendered and waited his turn. After getting his coffee, he snagged an empty seat and killed time. The longer he sat the angrier he got. He was punch-drunk and his mind would simply not shut down. After staring at his phone for what seemed like a lifetime he called Paula; it was seven forty-five. "Seriously? You better be in jail or on fire!" she answered.

Castle put on his best cheery voice, "Come on, it's Saturday, eight o'clock. Time to rise and shine." A groggy and pissed off Paula, spewing a few choice words, then answered, "What is it? What do you need?" It was more a statement than a question, and Castle knew he had to sell it. "Do you still have Agent McCord's cell phone number? I need it." A now curious Paula, sat up in bed, squinted and pondered, "What for? Why are you asking?" "You know the new book? The Wilde character? I have a technical question and I think she can help." Castle held his breath as Paula contemplated an answer. "Well, I hope you're not going to call her this early." Paula gave him the number, and unceremoniously hung up. Now what to do.

This was an awful plan. What was he going to do? Call McCord and say what? "Hi, it's your old buddy Richard Castle. Can you give me Agent Beckett's home address?" Calling McCord was not even a choice. He needed a Plan B.

He took the last swig of his coffee, stood, tossed the empty cup in the trash and walked outside. The brightness of daylight bothered his eyes, and with no sunglasses handy he squinted as he gathered his bearings. He looked around and waved over a cab. "Hey buddy, what's the nearest, decent hotel?" he asked. "That would be the George. Pricey but its five minutes away." The driver answered. "Ok, the George then." He wasn't kidding thought Castle, Hotel George was just a few block from Union Station. He felt bad, taking a cab for half a mile, so he handed the cabbie two twenties and thanked him.

He'd been wearing the same clothes for almost twenty-four hours. He did not look like he belonged in a swanky boutique hotel, and got the stares to match. As he approached the front desk he got a courteous "good morning" with an inquisitive gaze. He pulled out his black American Express card, placed it on the counter and said, "I need a room, single with a king will do." The desk clerk picked up the card as he typed into the computer. "Richard Castle? The author?" Castle looked at the young man and nodded, confirming his identity. "Mr. Castle, welcome to Hotel George…" Castle was not in the mood for a sales pitch or friendly banter. He interrupted, adding, "If you don't mind, I just need a room." The desk clerk got the message, handed him the key-card and pointed him towards the elevator. "If there is anything you need during your stay, please do not hesitate," stated the clerk. Just before walking away, Castle turned and asked, "Can you have a toothbrush and toothpaste sent to my room?" "Right away" responded the clerk. He could wear the same clothe for days, go without a shower or shave, but he drew the line at not brushing his teeth.

The room was perfect; it had a bed. As requested a toothbrush and toothpaste, along with a disposable razor were delivered immediately. He was losing steam, but first a phone call. "Dad?" Alexis answered. "Hey Pumpkin…" A groggy Alexis shook the cobwebs off wondering why her father was calling her. After all, he was downstairs … or was he? She jumped out of bed, ran downstairs, threw open his bedroom door to discover an empty bed. "Dad, where are you?" Ever since Syria, Alexis Castle had been a regular mother-hen, and she was not about to loosen her grip on him now. "If you must know, I'm in D.C." He was tired and could do without the third degree. But he knew where she was coming from, and he did not want her worrying needlessly, that's why he had called. He could hear the disapproval in her voice, "Dad, no…" "I really don't even know why I'm here. I'm at a hotel. I'll get some sleep and head back. Alexis, I need a favor. The USB, it's in my left desk drawer. E-mail me a copy of the file." She knew why he was there, but she wasn't going to tell him that. She went to his desk, got the USB and emailed him the file. He needed to do, what he needed to do, and she would be there to support him. She'd bet even money he wouldn't make it back today. He stripped down to his shorts, left a wake-up call for noon and fell into bed. He had a plan brewing, but he needed sleep; he needed to think clearly.

CHAPTER 16

She'd managed to get three and a half hours of sleep. Any more and she wouldn't sleep tonight. Besides, she had errands to run and laundry to do; that should keep her occupied. She stripped her bed, and started the laundry while she dressed. Half an hour later she was on her way to Whole Foods. She'd pick up groceries, a late lunch and head back home.

The phone call jolted him awake. He hung up the receiver, contemplated turning over, but opted to face the day. His Plan B had was formulated and he needed to get going. He jumped in the shower, skipped the shave, brushed his teeth and readied himself.

He knew his best bet was Ryan. Esposito would be a tougher nut to crack. "Castle?" Kevin Ryan was surprised to see Castle's number appear on his phone. After the dismissal he and Esposito had received, Castle was the last person he had expected to call. "Hey Castle. About yesterday, I hope you know Javi and I were just trying to look out for you," an apologetic Ryan uttered. "I need a favor," he said. "Sure, bro anything, just name it," reassured Ryan. Castle took a breath, "I need Beckett's address. Don't tell me you don't have it. I'm sure Jenny sends her a Christmas card every year." "Castle…" was all Ryan could muster. He told himself one way or another Castle would get the information, so why not help him out. "You didn't get it from me," was all he said, as he opened Jenny's address book and rattled off the address. "Thanks," was all he said. Now what? He had her address, he was there; it was his move. Well, " _Damn_ _the_ _torpedoes_ , _full speed ahead._ _"_

He got dressed, tucked the address into his breast pocket and went downstairs. He remembered the young man behind the counter, "Hi, remember me? I was wondering if you happen to have a phone charger, my phone's about to die," asked Castle. The clerk offered to charge his phone while he grabbed some coffee at the hotel restaurant. His stomach was letting him know it had been hours since he last ate. In the last seventeen-plus hours he'd had nothing but coffee, he was going to need something more. He ordered a salad with grilled chicken and a whiskey, neat. Liquid courage, he thought to himself.

He sat picking at the salad, thinking of what his next move would be. Once again, the more he thought about it the angrier he got. She lied! She had promised… that night when she showed up, wet, scared and hurt she had said "… _and all I could think about was you. I just want you."_ If that was true she would have told him, she wouldn't have left. He waved over the waitress, and ordered another whiskey. He finished the drink paid the check and returned for his phone.

A taxi pulling up to a residential neighborhood would stick out like a sore thumb. So just in case he wanted to bail out, he gave himself an exit plan. Uber, no one would notice a regular car driving by. Twenty minutes later, Gary in a gray Honda Accord pulled up. It was now or never.

He definitely needed some sunglasses. The glare was killing him and though it was only six miles away, it was going to be a long drive. He asked Gary to stop at the nearest drugstore, making it his first stop, promising to make it worth his while.

The stop was quick, he picked up a cheap pair of sunglasses, grabbed a phone charger, some gum and a bottle of water. Ten minutes later Gary was driving him towards Georgetown. "Do me a favor. Take the longest route possible," he asked. "You look like a man with a lot on his mind. Just let me know when you want to get there, Mr. Castle." Castle was surprised at the mention of his name, and Gary noticed. "I'm a big fan. I use to work the midnight shift, your books helped pass the time. Let me tell ya, I was pretty upset when you killed Derrick Storm, but Nikki Heat made up for it." Nikki Heat, if he only knew. "Thanks, I appreciate a true fan. Tell you what, give me your address and I'll send you a signed copy of my latest book."

They drove down Constitution Avenue, and around the Washington Memorial. The ride was eerily quiet, with Castle in deep thought and Gary respecting the needed silence. Once past the Lincoln Memorial, Gary started heading towards Georgetown. As they approached Georgetown University, Gary broke the silence. "Mr. Castle, the address is about a mile from the university, I won't stop unless you tell me too." Gary pointed out the building as they drove past.

She lived on a tree-lined street, in a small, red-brick, two-story apartment complex. The building was set in, framed by a small hill with a well-manicured garden. It was nice. Across the street was a park. It was well past three, there were two boys playing with a soccer ball, but otherwise the park and the street were empty. Gary drove around and back onto the main road. "Just drop me off by the park," said Castle. As they worked their way back, Gary slowed down, coming to a stop just feet from Beckett's address. "I'm gonna be in the area for a while. As a matter of fact I don't live too far from here. If I see this intersection, I'll take the call. Good luck." He handed Castle a business card, reminding him about the book as he smiled. Castle thanked him, tipping him with a fifty dollar bill.

She really hadn't needed much, but she wanted to keep busy, and Whole Foods seemed like a safe bet. She picked up some tea, a box of the granola bars she liked, skim milk, and a salad for lunch. She parked her car, grabbed the one bag and headed inside. It was two-thirty and she was done with her laundry and the errands.

She had ignored an earlier call from Lanie, so as she sat down to eat her salad she dialed her number. "Hey, sorry I didn't answer when you called, I was in the check-out line at Whole Foods," an apologetic Kate said. "You at a grocery store?" mocked Lanie. "I just wanted to touch base and make sure you were alright," explained Lanie. "I'm fine. The sun rose in the east and will set in the west, and all is right with the world." The sarcasm flowed. Kate regretted her words the minute she said them. Lanie was being a friend and she was being a bitch. "Lanie, I'm sorry. Really I'm fine. I didn't get much sleep and I'm kind of bitchy." In typical fashion, Lanie answered, "Kind of? Listen Kate, I'll forgive you cause I know what you're going through, even if you won't admit it. I just called to check up on you. If you need to talk, you know where to find me." Kate laughed, and thanked Lanie. She promised to call her Sunday to really catch-up.

He watched the boys kick the ball back and forth as he made his was to her building. He knew he'd never move on if he didn't see her. He crossed the street, made his way up the walkway and looked for her apartment number.

The knock was unexpected. She stood, walked to the door and opened it. "You lied."

CHAPTER 17

Her knees buckled. She tried to steady herself by grabbing for the door, but the darkness overtook her. He managed to grab her before she hit the floor. He picked her up and carried her to the couch. This was not what he had wanted, he never wanted to hurt her. Not true, deep down he knew he would hurt her.

She jumped, coming to on her couch. "Kate?" His soft voice, filled with concern tore at her. He was kneeling next to her. She swung her feet around, taking a sitting position. "Sorry about that," whispered Kate. Castle stood and started heading towards the door. "This was a bad idea. I'm sorry. I'll leave," he hastily said. "Castle?" hearing her voice call his name shook him. She took a breath, "Castle, how did you find me? Why are you here?" He was still facing away from her. It was his turn to take a deep breath. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, looked for the file Alexis had sent and hit play, _"Drop it, let it go, or we promise, you will regret it. You can watch as we kill the writer and the pretty little redhead and I'll take my time with her first."_ The words reverberated off her apartment walls, she was glad to be seated. The call was just as jarring as it was that cold afternoon. He turned to face Kate. "Please turn it off," she softly begged.

"Why did you lie to me Kate?" he demanded an answer. He couldn't stop now. "You said we were partners. You said you loved me. How could you just leave like that? No explanation, nothing! I deserved an explanation Kate! I deserved better." He was pacing back and forth. "You either lied when you said you loved me, or you lied when you walked away and pretended you didn't. Either way, you lied." He was angry, and rightly so. She had walked away, without as much as a word. "The night you came to the loft, when Maddox got away, you told me you didn't care, that all you thought of was me, that all you wanted was me! That was a lie!" He fell silent. He couldn't look at her. "And now, I find out about this. How do you think it made feel? Why wouldn't you tell me?" Once again he stood. She could tell he was angry. "I know. Because Katherine Beckett doesn't need anyone. Because Katherine Beckett can take on the world by herself." He continued to pace, brushing his hair back with his fingers. "I'm sorry you never thought to trust me Kate. I've said my peace. Good-bye Kate."

In a hushed tone he heard her say, "I never lied." It stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned, and faced her. "That night, when I showed up at the loft, I told you, _all I could think about was you._ That all I wanted was you. I never lied. When I left, all I was thinking about was you… you and Alexis, how to keep you safe. I did what I thought I had to do." She managed to get the words out through her tears, but it was difficult. "I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. You're right, you deserved better." He turned back and sat next to her. "Why Kate? Why didn't you tell me?" "Castle, those people were responsible for the deaths of Armen, my mother, three of her colleagues, Montgomery, Coonan, Lockwood, Raglan, McCallister and God only knows how many others. Do you really think they wouldn't have followed through? Because I didn't. Rick, I couldn't take that chance…" her voice trailed. She wiped her tears, avoiding his gaze. "But…" she interrupted him. "No but Castle. If I had told you, you would have gone full steam ahead, into something we couldn't control. I know you. I wouldn't have been able to stop you." They sat in silence. Neither one saying a word. "Why didn't you tell me? Once Bracken was dead, why didn't you tell me?"

"By then, so much had happened, I just figured things were best left alone." She shrugged her shoulders and sat. "Besides, what was I going to say? I didn't know those recordings existed. I forgot the precinct calls were taped. Honestly, I never wanted to hear that call again."

He stood and walked towards the door, she reached out for his hand. "Castle, I'm sorry. I want you to know, I did trust you; I always trusted you." Little else was said as she watched him walk out the door and out of sight.

He hadn't realized they had been talking for so long. It was just past six and the sun was starting to set. He requested Uber to the intersection, and within seconds, the alert notified him a gray Honda Accord would be in route. He was not making it to New York tonight. He texted Alexis, hoping she'd get the hint and not call. Then he remembered; he'd been wearing the same clothes going on two days. Gary drove him to a near-by GAP where he grabbed jeans, a shirt, some underwear, and socks. He hadn't tried anything on and hoped they fit. Ten minutes later, Gary had him safely back at the hotel. He was going to owe Gary more than a book.

Once he entered his room, the façade he displayed disintegrated. He showered, threw his dirty clothes into the laundry bag and hit the mini bar. It didn't take long before he was passed-out. Exhaustion and four drinks taking its toll.

She was spent. The toll on her body was evident, even she could feel it. But, it was done, Castle had his closure. She could live with the pain of walking away, but she could never live with Castle and Alexis being in danger. She had done the right thing. She walked into her bedroom, and for the second time in as many months, cried herself to sleep.

CHAPTER 18

It was Sunday, a day of rest. But there was no rest for the weary. He rose just after eight, having slept eleven hours, straight. How he wished he'd bought some aspirin; exhaustion and whiskey did not lead to a pleasant morning.

She tossed and turned, the constant hiccuping from crying had not helped. She's finally fallen asleep around eleven. She had slept nine hours, yet the face that stare back at her from the bathroom mirror looked anything but rested. Her eyes were puffy, her face red and her hair looked like small creatures were calling it home. She brushed her teeth, looked in the mirror once more, grabbed her phone, and texted McCord; she'd be taking Monday off. Sunday was a wash, she was going to stay in bed all day and that was that. With any luck, Monday would give her time to get her act together and present a normal appearance come Tuesday.

He showered and shaved, nicking himself several times. The jeans were baggy, the shirt was tight, but he was glad to discover the underwear and socks fit just right. He ordered room service asking for a pot of coffee and a whiskey, neat; a hair of the dog... He sat and pondered.

He grabbed his phone and called Alexis. "Hey Dad," she answered, afraid to ask. "Hey, just wanted to let you know everything's fine." She could hear the weariness in his voice; everything was not fine. "Listen Pumpkin, I may be in D.C. another day or so. But, I'll fly back as soon as I can. I'll call and let you know." Even he didn't know what he was doing. For all he knew he'd be back home tonight. "Dad, are you sure you're okay? Did you see Beckett?" Alexis held her breath. "Alexis, we'll talk when I get back," he was not about to get into a play-by-play with her. Truth be told, he didn't want to get into a play-by-play with anyone. Alexis knew when to push, and this was not the time. "Okay Dad. Let me know if you need anything. I love you." "I love you too, Pumpkin."

Alexis ended the conversation, relieved that her father was safe. She too had been putting ghosts to rest. After Kate left, she had witnessed firsthand what it had done to him; she hated Katherine Beckett. She was the reason her father had almost been killed. She had always had a love, hate relationship with Beckett, but Kate's abandonment had definitely pushed her over the line. Hate had become the resounding emotion. Although she had resented her father's adoration of Katherine Beckett, Alexis had tried to get beyond her jealousy, attributing it to childish behavior; after all he deserved to be happy. In the end, she had been right, her father was too good for Katherine Beckett. Forty-eight hours ago she had been proven wrong, Beckett loved her father so deeply, she had walked away to keep him safe. She had replayed the recording when she emailed it to her father, and it had not gone unnoticed that she too had been threatened. Kate had left to protect them both.

He had breakfast, and downed the whiskey. Yesterday had been taxing, his head still reeled and the whiskey was not the reason. He thought he'd get closure. Facing her should have finally put things to rest, but it hadn't. He was still hurt and angry and he did not like Katherine Beckett much. For a minute he considered ordering another whiskey, but he need to be clearheaded. When she'd left him he'd attempted to find the answers in liquor and his old reckless behavior; he'd learned his lesson. He had kept a few things out of his book, some too ugly to share, others too painful and some simply embarrassing. He ended up in Syria after a three-day binge, which resulted in a drunken, hair brain idea. By the time he'd sobered up he was in Damascus, chasing an adventurous tale. Until he decided his next move, he would stick with coffee.

She returned to bed hoping to hide from the nightmare of the day before. _"You said we were partners. You said you loved me. How could you just leave like that?"_ The words, the look on his face, she couldn't erase it from her mind. She did however, take some comfort in the fact he had gotten his say. It was finally over. She pulled the pillow over her head and went back to sleep.

It was close to eleven when he finally walked out the hotel. He had pussy-footed around for almost three hours. Still no closer to knowing what to do, he grabbed a tourist map and headed out. He made his way to Massachusetts Avenue, turned left and kept walking, forty-five minutes later he was at Dupont Circle. He was drained, both mentally and physically. He sat near the fountain, catching his breath and gathering his thoughts. It was seventy-four degrees and sunny, the sky was clear, expanding a canvas of sapphire blue as far as the eyes could see. It was a gorgeous day. He sat and people watched. It was almost two o'clock when he flagged down a cab.

She had surrendered, exchanged the bed for the couch. She was channel surfing when the doorbell rang. No doubt it would be McCord. Rachel had gotten in the habit of dropping by, unannounced, whenever she called out sick. Kate was grateful that McCord watched over her, but this was getting old. She yanked open the door, verbally reprimanding her friend at the same time. "Good God Rachel, you're worse than a …" the words died mid-sentence as she saw Castle standing on the other side.

She had let him have his say, she had stood there and taken it. She just couldn't do this again. She was dressed in yoga pants and a tee shirt, and looked like shit. He needed to leave. "What do you want Castle?" Funny how it was she who now utter those words. How different this outcome would be.

He looked uncomfortable. The clothes he wore looked brand new, yet borrowed, he kept shifting his weight from one leg to another and broke eye contact immediately. "Look Castle, I don't like my neighbors knowing my business, so if you have something else to say, do it inside," she said and stepped aside. Castle walked in as she closed the door.

They stood in the entrance neither saying a word. He glanced at her and his heart dropped. She looked exhausted. "Kate, I owe you an apology." He looked at her and proceeded. "Yesterday, I showed up here, at your home, uninvited and created a scene. I'm sorry if I upset you. I had no right, you did not deserve to be ambushed." He shoved his hands in his pockets, took a breath and added, "And so here I am, once again intruding, uninvited, ambushing you to apologize." He could not help but smile.

She left him standing by the door as she walked to the couch and sat down. "Castle, I don't blame you. I deserved everything you said and more. I just don't have the energy to do this again." She hung her head in defeat, took a breath exclaiming, "I did what I thought was best. But you were wrong when you said I thought I could take on the world by myself. I knew I couldn't, but I also knew that I could not put others in harm's way. That is why I left." "Kate," he started, but she interrupted. "No, you had your say, now it's my turn." She stood and looked at him. "It killed me to leave you. But to have lost you or Alexis, well… Whether you believe me or not, leaving was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and I would do it again. You and Alexis were safe and that was all that mattered to me." "That was all the mattered? Really Kate?" he sarcastically rebuffed her statement. "Yes, it was!" she yelled at him. Now he too yelled, "But to just walk away? Without an explanation? You could have said you didn't love me, that you were going back to Josh, anything would have been better than the unknown you left me with. Hell, you changed your phone number. All I wanted was an explanation!" Kate turned from him, eerie silence engulfing the room. Her words barely audible, "Anything other than telling you about the call would have been a lie. Say what you want, I never lied to you." There they stood, no more secrets between them. She sat back down on the couch and he followed.

"Are you okay?" she asked. He looked at her and knew the question asked far more than the words implied. "I'm fine," he dryly replied. "I don't believe you. I read your book. I'm so sorry Castle…" it was barely a whisper. "Oh no you don't! You do not get to blame yourself. Syria was all me, and the scum that took me hostage. No one else is to blame. Understood?" he said it all in one breathe with searing conviction. There was no way he would let her own any part of that grief; no one deserved that.

"Kate?" She had no energy, "Hmm?" she replied. "You like to blame yourself when things go wrong. Most people who come up against a wall give up. But _not you. You don't let go. You don't back down. That's what makes you extraordinary._ I hate you being extraordinary. You always had to be the strong one, the one that held everyone and everything together. Those few times you were vulnerable, when small cracks appeared, I thought I could be enough; yet, you always kept me, and everyone at arm's length. - It was tough. When you walked away, I wanted so much to hate you, but all I could muster was not liking you very much." Tears spilled from her eyes, "You're not alone. A lot of people don't like me much," she hiccupped with a smile. He took her hand, the gesture betraying any anger displayed. "Kate, I need you to know something. In Syria, at my worst, not a day went by when I didn't think of you. You were both, my death wish and my reason for living. I may not have liked you, but I never stopped loving you."

 **EPILOGUE**

He continued to travel back to D.C. to see her. They had both agreed that the healing would take time. Castle needed to forgive her and she needed to forgive herself. He was so conflicted. It was not so simple. Or was it? On that last awful day, when he'd been tossed back into that hole, what he believed to be his last thoughts always included her.

After his arrival in the states the doctors had recommended he seek counseling. It would help with the PTSD and would aid in his recovery. But in true Castle fashion he had brushed it off.

The nightmares had continued; though sporadic they were frightful. He would awaken drenched in sweat, at times screaming. On one terrifying night Alexis had rushed in after hearing him screaming. She had found him sound asleep, in the fetal position, shivering and crying; it had taken her a good hour to calm him down. The next morning, he could not recall the incident. That same day he had made an appointment with Kate's former therapist, Dr. Burke.

She was happy for him. Their time together had been rough, but cathartic. She'd last seen him five months ago, they had parted on good terms. He'd asked for time, she doubted she would ever see him again. She too had done some healing. Castle and Alexis were safe, she had accomplished her goal. Life went on.

Three times a week, two-hour sessions. The nightmares had subsided, the fear had calmed. He still harbored guilt over what he had put his mother and Alexis through, but in time he had come to the realization he would have to forgive himself. The topic of Kate occupied most of his sessions. He had wanted to blame her for his drunken stupor and the decisions he'd made, but that would have been unfair. Truth be told, until he'd met Katherine Beckett, stupid decisions while in a drunken stupor had been his specialty. The only difference was, in New York there was always someone to save him from himself.

In five months he had made remarkable progress. It was during one particularly ugly session that it had come to a head. "She did not trust me enough to tell me what was going on! We were partners! That's what it boils down to, trust," he had screamed, anger boiling over. "Rick, be honest with yourself. For the last few months you've said you understood why Kate had done what she'd done. So why so worked up today?" Silence followed. After a few minutes Dr. Burke spoke up. "We've reached an impasse, you have to accept your true feelings or you will never move forward. Is it about trust? Or is it ego?" Castle paced the office, Dr. Burke watched. It stretched into twenty minutes of utter silence. Finally, Castle plopped down, rested his face in his hand and sighed. In an exhausted tone Richard Castle faced his painful truth, "She was right. If she had told me, and asked that I stay away, I wouldn't have listened. I'm mad because I know she was right." He sat there, pensive and withdrawn, while Burke allowed him theacceptance of his own words. Finally, Richard Castle confessed, "It was about trust for me, but it was about love for her."

He once wondered how he could forgive what he could not forget. Now, he had the answer; he could forgive because, "the heart wants, what the heart wants."


End file.
